


The Carriage House

by rosymamacita



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Archer!Bellamy, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, New York City, Pining, Roommates, Teacher!Bellamy, Teacher!Clarke, but i'm going to drive Bellamy mad, carriage house, forget it it's all going to be fluff, well as much as I can do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosymamacita/pseuds/rosymamacita
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke are co-teachers. They are GREAT partners. But they are both about to be homeless. So when they get the chance to rent an amazing apartment-- a carriage house with a courtyard garden in a great neighborhood--at an unbeatable price. They have to take it.Even if it comes with an over involved weirdly religious land lady who wants a married couple as tenants. They're great partners. They can pretend to be married a little. How hard could it be?





	1. We're Practically Married Already, To Be Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy thinks it might be a bad idea to pretend to be married to Clarke, who he's already got a stupid crush on. But it's a great house, and the way she looks at him...

Bellamy and Clarke toured the carriage house in Greenwich Village and could hardly believe it.

“Are you *sure* that’s how much they’re asking for for a two bedroom carriage house in a courtyard garden on Perry Street? Because this doesn’t seem correct,” Bellamy asked the realtor, Monroe, again. 

“With twelve foot ceilings and hard wood floors and french doors and..” Clarke wasn’t going to stop unless he stopped her, so he put a hand on her arm. She let out a breath and went quiet. 

“Right,” he continued, “Because, uhm, we’re public school teachers. And we shouldn’t be able to afford this place. In this location.”

“No. Yeah. That’s the rent…” Monroe nodded and made a face.

“But…” Clarke prompted, looking at Bellamy because she didn’t believe it either.

“Well, the landlady is a special case. She’s uhm, very religious.”

“Okay…” Bellamy added when Monroe didn’t go on.

“And she wants a married couple.”

“Oh,” Clarke started.

Monroe held up her hand. “But I mean, she doesn’t need to see your marriage license or anything.” She laughed uncomfortably. “That would be illegal. No. Her son, who owns the house, he knows, right? He knows that times are different now and people don’t need those marriage ceremonies to commit, and you’re such a nice couple. He has a soft spot for teachers because he started out as one and his mother was one her whole life, and he really likes you kids, so you’re okay with fibbing to Vera, right? I mean. It won’t be such a big deal, except maybe wear some rings and call each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ once in a while, right? Because Vera lives in the main house and you would share the garden. She loves gardening.”

Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other. They weren’t a couple. They were teaching partners who worked with a student cohort together. He taught History and Theater and she taught English and Art and worked together. Just worked. They just got along so well that when both of their leases were up and they got a lead on this great two bedroom apartment— house even— in this great neighborhood walking distance from the school they taught at, they decided to be roommates. Nothing romantic about that at all. It was a totally normal situation for New York City, where housing was so expensive. Not romantic. Just partners. Sharing expenses. They were teachers! They had to. It was an economic necessity.

They hadn’t told the realtor they were a couple, had they? Partners. He was sure they’d said partners. Bellamy opened his mouth to correct the realtor, but Clarke laid her hand over his that was still on her arm. She squeezed. “We’re practically married already, to be honest,” she said. 

Bellamy turned to her, aghast.

She wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned into him, which to be truthful had his brain short-circuiting a little. Their coworkers joked about them being married, but they were certainly NOT married, or he wouldn’t have these vivid fantasies about what he was not allowed to do with his beautiful teaching partner. He hadn’t been in a relationship in a long time, was all. He needed to get laid, and meanwhile was seeing Clarke every day, being so passionate and smart and there. Always there. He was really bad at relationships. Too much baggage. He always did something to ruin them and he wouldn’t risk that with his partner. They were too good together. No. This would be bad. So he pushed it down, like he always did. 

But Clarke was already talking. Accepting. She tugged him along the garden path (it was a gorgeous garden) back into the carriage house, (there was a fireplace!) where Monroe took out her paperwork. Clarke was signing things before he even really knew what was going on. He was a little dazzled, between the sunlight streaming through the french doors and the memory of Clarke leaning against him.

“But I don’t understand,” she said as she scrolled her pretty signature in the right places. “Why is the rent so cheap? They have to know they could be getting more for it.”

“Yes,” Monroe said, turning the page for another signature. “But it’s Vera. She’s religious, like I said, and she’s also very involved in the carriage house tenants.”

“What’s that?” Bellamy asked. Involved?

“She misses her son and her other kids who moved to the west coast. She just loves having young people around and always wants to adopt them. And with your references—“

“References?” Bellamy asked. They hadn’t asked anyone to give them references yet. This was their first time seeing the place. 

“Jaha,” Clarke said, tugging on his arm again. “I told you, he’s the one who got us this opportunity. I practically grew up in his house.” Right. Thelonious Jaha. The school superintendent. Bellamy had thought for a long time that Clarke had only gotten her job at their school because of nepotism, because she’d grown up with the superintendent, not because she was a great teacher with a passion for teaching, her subject areas and the importance of education in social justice and freedom. He looked at Clarke. He could hardly even remember that time when he’d thought she was a spoiled princess. She’d turned out to be so much more.

“Exactly.” Bellamy turned to Monroe, who he’d forgotten was even there for a moment. “Vera feels you’re already part of the family and Marcus trusts Jaha’s judgment.”

“So wait. This isn’t an application?”

Monroe pointed to the papers for Clarke to sign. “No. This is a three year lease.” She slid the lease over to Bellamy and gave him the pen. 

He looked at Clarke, shell shocked. She smiled at him, with that tight lipped grin that said to him ‘do it or else I will destroy you.’ 

“Clarke…” he said, warningly.

Clarke’s expression changed totally. Her blue eyes went huge and liquid and she looked at him in a way that made him nervous. 

Her smile got soft then. 

Very nervous.

She slid an arm around his waist and pressed up against him again, She was so soft, he nearly choked on his own tongue. “Come on, baby,” she said, and his freaking heart stopped right in its tracks. “I know it’s a big step, but we can do it.”

He could just stare at her. 

“Please, baby,” she said and he knew it was fake. Clearly it was fake. She was not his wife or his girlfriend or anything vaguely romantic. They were friends and partners at work and had decided to move in together, even though he was fighting his stupid attraction to her. It was just temporary. He was sure he’d get involved with someone else and it would fade away back into the background where it used to be. I mean, she was undeniably beautiful. Anyone would be attracted to her, that was all. Just normal attraction. It was just hard to remember at this point in time with her warm breast pressed up against his chest, so soft against him and her warm words so soft and cajoling. She smelled like flowers on a spring breeze. “It’s such a beautiful home,” she said. “Imagine living here.” And he was starting to imagine it. This was such a bad idea. “Do it for me, Bell?” she whispered, and he closed his eyes and reached for the pen. 

“Aww, see now?” Monroe said. “That’s love.” 

It was? He had the sinking feeling that this would all end up terribly but there was something in him that wanted it so, so much.

Clarke clapped her hands together happily as he signed the lease making them roommates for the next three years. With a landlady who thought they were married and was involved with her tenants lives. And he would not be able to have a girlfriend, or at least it would be tricky, in order to get over his attraction to Clarke. Who he would be living with. On a daily basis. And faking a marriage with. And falling in love with like the true and complete idiot he was.

He signed the lease and handed it back to Monroe.

Clarke threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “It’s going to be so amazing, Bellamy! I can’t wait to move in.”

He was going to die.


	2. Mr Griffin and Mrs Blake ha ha ha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They moved in right away. No one saw a need to wait. Their friends helped them out and Vera, the landlady welcomed them with open arms. 
> 
> It should have been so easy. It was easy. What was hard was the ruse. Because he didn't want it to be a ruse at all. And his friends seemed to want to rub it in his face.

***

Moving in was easy. And quick. By the next weekend, Clarke and Bellamy had bought simple gold bands to wear around the carriage house, rented a truck, and filled it with their stuff. 

Vera greeted them at the gate, holding it open with a delighted smile on her face.

“Welcome, welcome! I’m so glad to invite you into our happy home. Aren’t you such a beautiful couple?” She reached out and held Clarke’s face, kissing her on both cheeks firmly before letting go and turning to Bellamy, pulling him down with surprising strength and doing the same to him. She linked one arm into each of theirs and walked them through the garden courtyard, showing them all her flowers and fruit trees, the barbecue set up on the patio and the fountain that tinkled and cancelled out the noise of the city streets through the alley entrance.

Bellamy and Clarke’s friends carried box after box through the garden paths into the carriage house while Vera refused to let them get away.

“Seriously, Vera, I feel guilty letting our friends do all the work, we should help them…” Bellamy said.

Raven passed them with some of Clarke’s paintings under her arms. She shot them a look. Bellamy rolled his eyes back at her. She knew the game. Of course she did. She was the other teacher in their partnership, the one who taught the kids math and science. The three of them worked together and she was the one who teased them half that time about being ‘married.’ She knew this was fake, but she also knew it was the best apartment possible. She was the one who convinced Bellamy he should go through with it when he wanted to back out. So why was she giving them that look?

“Nonsense. You’ll buy them a pizza and some beer tonight and then once you get settled in, you’ll invite them over and we’ll have a barbecue. This is what friends are for.”

“We?”

She smiled and guided them over to her barbecue again. “Did I show you my barbecue? It really hasn’t gotten much use since my kids moved out. It’s time we have a nice family party.” 

“Do you mean Marcus?” Clarke asked. Bellamy could tell she was charmed by Vera. “Do you have other children.”

“My own children? No. Just Marcus. But all the kids I’ve taught or taken under my wing are my kids. They all have a home here. You’re my kids now. Your friends are my kids. This is what we believe. Family. A future. Community. When we have your housewarming barbecue, we’ll add all your names to The Tree.”

“The Tree?” Bellamy was starting to get a funny feeling.

“The Tree.” Vera stopped them in front of a beautiful old plum tree with twisting branches, already heavy with fruit. “This is the representative of all that we believe. Community. Family. Home. When we add your names to the branches, it will bless you and your union and consecrate your marriage and family for the future.”

Bellamy was definitely uncomfortable. “I thought you were a Christian, Vera.”

Vera chuckled. “Oh no. I believe in the Unity Path.”

Oh. Unity Path. That kind of wacky church that was basically about bringing humanity all together and valued intermarriage and children to create a more beautiful future yadda yadda. Right. Now it all made sense. They had these temples precisely for young couples. He caught Clarke’s eyes. She was biting her lip and grinning. She’d figured it out too. That’s why she wanted her tenants to be married. It was how she honored her church. He almost felt guilty that Clarke and he were faking. They wouldn’t be a real couple and they wouldn’t be having children.

He definitely felt guilty. Well he could give her what she wanted at least, a garden courtyard full of young people ready to celebrate life and love and their new home. 

Monty and Jasper were hauling a dresser. Raven had a box for the kitchen. Miller had a whole pile of boxes on a dolly, heading down the paths to the carriage house. “You guys up for a courtyard barbecue at the end of the school year? As our house warming party? Vera would love to have you all.”

“Sweet!” Jasper said and Monty grinned along. 

“Yeah, I could hang out in this garden with a beer and some friends. If I have to,” Raven said. Which was Raven being enthusiastic about non science and technology things.

“If I have to,” Miller agreed. Which was Miller being enthusiastic about pretty much anything.

Yeah, Bellamy and Clarke weren’t going to give Vera her couple with babies, but he could give her a courtyard full of young people that she could matchmake. 

Strangely, this made him feel less guilty. He turned back to Vera with a smile. She didn’t seem to notice his divided thoughts. He glanced at Clarke and she raised her eyebrows at him. She, however, probably knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

“See?” Vera said. “That’s how it works.” She turned to their friends, burdened with boxes and furniture. “None of you mind getting them set up while I take them for a tour of their new home, do you?”

Miller pressed his lips together, but Raven got a glint in her eye that Bellamy didn’t trust. “Not at all, Vera. We’ll take care of them. You can be sure of that.”

He shot a look at Clarke. She looked worried, too. But there wasn’t time for worry. Vera grabbed their arms again. “Perfect. I’ll send them back with some sangria. Come, children,” she said and shuffled them off down the garden path behind some trees and flowering bushes until Bellamy couldn’t see his friends anymore, but he could still hear their muffled laughter. 

***

When Vera finally released them from her tour of the garden and her brownstone which was full of empty rooms and old knick knacks and books and paintings and mementos and plants and cats and a life well lived, the sun was going down and Bellamy carried a huge jug of nearly purple sangria. Clarke had her own tray of birds nest cookies filled with jewel colored jams. They’d already ordered four large pizzas from the pizza place that Vera had suggested and that should be along soon.

Bellamy went into the carriage house feeling rather strange. Spending the afternoon with his arm wrapped around his partner, pretending to be her husband, receiving cheek kisses and whispered wry comments, had already gotten him buzzing with a strange energy, so when he held the door for his Clarke and walked into the living room to find his friends all sprawled out on Clarke’s cozy couch, drinking the beer he’d bought for them, he felt like he’d entered an alternate reality. 

Was this his life? Was this his home? Was this his…wife?

“Close the door dude. You’re letting in the smell of flowers and gardens,” Jasper said reclining back on the couch, beer in hand, feet up on a box that hadn’t been opened yet. He caught a look at Bellamy and then sat up. “Wait. What’s in the jug?”

Jasper jumped up and came over.

“Vera made us some sangria,” he said, but not before Jasper got to him and tried opening the lid on the jar. Bellamy tried to hold him off and instead, splashed sangria down his front. 

“What the hell, Jasper?” 

“You spilled it!” Jasper cried, taking the jar from him and cradling it. “The glasses! We need glasses!” He went off to the kitchen in search of glasses.

“Are you high?” Bellamy grumbled, holding the now soaked t shirt away from his skin.

“A little,” he said.

Clarke came up and put a hand on his arm. She blinked at him slowly, reminding him that their friends had moved the whole truck with virtually no help from them. Bellamy sighed. She was right. “Vera also made us cookies,” Clarke said and held up the tray. Monty came up and relieved her of the cookies. 

“Cookies and sangria?” Raven said, sitting on the couch rubbing at her thigh and bad leg. “You promised us pizza.”

“We ordered it already. It’s coming,” Bellamy said, looking at her worriedly. She looked tired. “Did you hurt yourself? I told you not to over exert yourself.”

Raven snorted and rolled her eyes. “I can handle a few boxes.”

“I wouldn’t let her carry any of the big stuff. Don’t worry,” Miller said, “I took care of Raven while you were being a good husband to your wife.”

Raven chuckled along with Miller, both of them smirking up at Clarke and Bellamy. “You’re looking pretty purple there,” she gestured to the rapidly spreading stain on his shirt. “You’d better go change before the pizza gets here. You wouldn’t want to embarrass the wifey.”

“Shut up.” He was doing a lot of grumbling. Clarke rubbed his arm comfortingly. For some reason the teasing didn’t seem to bother her. 

Probably because she didn’t have to worry about actually being in love with him. To her it was just silly teasing. Just a ruse.

“Go change, Bellamy,” Clarke said. She looked so happy.

A knife twisted in his gut. Because he didn’t want it to be ruse. The realization hit him at exactly that moment. He didn’t just have crush on her. He didn’t just want to get her into bed because she was hot. He wasn’t in danger of falling in love with her. He was actually in love with her and he wanted her to fall in love with him and he wanted to be her boyfriend and then marry her and have kids together and grow old together. He just stared at her.

“Bellamy…go change and rinse that out before it stains. That’s my favorite t shirt of yours.”

“Huh?” He looked down. It wasn’t anything special, just an old t shirt meant for moving, with the nasa logo fading out, and nearly worn thin. 

She shoved him towards his room. “Go. I’m sure they’ve put all your stuff in your room. All your boxes were clearly marked with contents and location.” She’d teased him so much about his anal moving organization skills, but he was the one who would laugh, when all his things were easily unpacked and put away and hers were still lost in the chaos of her moving system, which entailed throwing random things into the nearest box and taping it up and shoving it out of the way.

Clarke’s teasing put him back on steady ground. He liked her, no matter how much he loved her. And he could just be. And like her. And be her roommate. It would wear off he was sure, once the newness of it all settled in. He was sure.

“Laugh now, Griffin,” he said. “You’ll be crying when you can’t find any of your art supplies or cardigans.” Two things she was never without. Her art supplies and an endless stream of thrifted vintage cardigans, because she was always cold, even in the middle of summer. 

She tried to mock him again but he waved her off and headed into his room, the one on the right, pulling his tshirt over his head as he went. He closed the door. 

The room held nothing but a bed with a bare mattress, a desk, and a lamp. There were no boxes. There was nothing in his room. None of his things were there. What the hell was going on? What had they done with all his stuff? He knew he shouldn’t have let them take charge of moving, and he kept trying to get back to direct them and help out but Vera commanded him to stay and he’d felt such guilt over the lies that he stayed. But now look what his fool friends had done.

He whipped his door open and stormed back out into the living room. “Where the hell is my stuff?”

Jasper and Monty were snickering over the plate of cookies but Raven looked cooly back at him. “We put it in your room. You’re welcome.”

Miller flicked through the tv. “That’s mighty ungrateful of you, Mr Griffin. All our hard work in setting up your love nest and this is what we get.”

“What’s going on?” Clarke came out of the kitchen with a bunch of wine glasses, stopping short at the sight of him.

“They hid all my stuff. There’s nothing in my room. Look, I appreciate your help moving and all and I owe you one, you know it, but can I have my stuff back now? I need to change.”

“He told you, Bellamy, we put it in your room.”

“My room is on the right and there’s nothing in there.”

Miller flipped through the channels, still not looking at him, cool as a cucumber. He shook his head. “We put it in your room. That is the guest room. You’re welcome.”

Clarke choked a bit on nothing and then shook her head as if to clear it. “Are you guys kidding me?” She put the glasses down on the coffee table and grabbed Bellamy’s arm as she lead him down the hall to the room on the left. HER room. 

She opened the door and there was Clarke’s room, all set up, the bed nicely made with her fluffy down comforter. Two small cozy chairs that he knew were meant for the living room. Flowers, cut from Vera’s garden in a vase on the bedside. They’d even put up curtains in her window. They were his curtains, plain white ones that filtered the light just a bit, but they were on Clarke’s windows.

“What the hell?” he said. “My room was completely empty. This one is all set up.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you couldn’t find your clothes?”

“I couldn’t find anything.”

Clarke went to the closet and opened the doors. Her clothes were all hung up, neatly, right next to his. 

He stepped up to look closer, because. Ridiculous. “Why are my clothes hanging in your room.”

“Our friends are assholes.” 

He ground his teeth. “They’re never going to let go of this fake marriage thing, are they? Married couple. Sharing a room. Calling me Mr Griffin.”

“Probably not. They’ve been calling me Mrs Blake if it makes you feel better.”

He was not going to tell her that hearing that name on her lips actually sent a thrill through him. He ground his jaw again. “I’m going to kill them.”

Clarke laughed throatily and looked down at his bare chest. “I think you should put on a shirt before you do.” She reached in and pulled a tshirt off of a shelf. “This is a great closet,” she said. “Way bigger than yours.”

“My room gets the morning light. I like to wake up to the sun.”

She smiled then handed him the shirt. “This is my second favorite shirt of yours.”

It was an old vintage style shirt. “Battlestar Galactica?”

“I love science fiction.”

“You just love calling me a nerd.”

She hummed. “Mm. That too.” Her smile made his heart leap. 

A clangor went up in the garden. Clarke jumped.

“What the hell is that Griffin?!” Raven yelled from the living room.

“It’s the courtyard gate bell,” he said, and he couldn’t quite help how gruff his voice was.

“Oh right.” Clarke nodded. “Get dressed before the pizza gets here, hubby. I’ll let the the delivery guy in.”

Clarke left her room— their room according to his friends— and he had to hold onto the closet door for a minute in reaction. He took deep breaths. This would get easier right?


	3. Just Lots of Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look. This Fake Marriage thing is getting complicated. It ain't easy at all.

Clarke and Bellamy settled into the carriage house easily, since it was usually just them, going about their daily business, with a few encounters with Vera, but fine, that was okay. They knew this was the game and it didn’t cross any lines. An arm around her shoulders. A peck on the cheek. Really they just acted slightly more intimate than their normal relationship. It was easy.

They got ready for school in the morning, sharing the bathroom in turns, he’d make breakfast for her because otherwise she’d eat a pop tart or something. They’d walk to work, since the school was so close, and go their separate ways until lunch where she’d bring him his favorite sushi from the deli, since she had the period before lunch off, and the lines were shorter then. Then they’d meet with Raven to plan or discuss classes and finish the day with the students. They wouldn’t walk home together, usually, always having different plans scheduled, or various after school commitments. They didn’t do EVERYTHING together. 

But he kind of liked it when he got home and there was Clarke, cozy on their couch, doing her grading in front of the tv or reading a book, and there was dinner on the stove waiting. If he got home before her, he’d make dinner. They almost competed, sometimes, over who could make the best food. He said he was the best chef, just to tease her, but he was not sure that was true. Then they’d watch something on tv and say goodnight. He’d collect his clothes for the next day from her closet and go to bed.

He never actually had managed to move all his stuff out of Clarke’s room and into his room, although he’d hung up his white curtains and made the bed and pulled one of the cozy chairs into the corner so he could read before bed. He rationalized it by saying that if Vera showed up, well, it would look like a guest room, but really he was just too lazy and Clarke had been right. His closet was tiny and once he’d hung up his coats and dress suits, it was nearly full. It was easier just to leave his clothes in the big room. 

For some reason, Clarke kept folding his clothes out of the dryer and putting them back in her closet. He’d asked her why, and she’d said something about sensory something or other and how she liked the warm clothes and folding and the scent of the softener. She babbled for a bit on that and then glared at him with that look that dared him to challenge her and, hey, if she wanted to fold and put away his laundry all the time, fine. He had more space in his room for books, which made it look more like a library than a bedroom, to be honest. Also good for if Vera stopped by. Good for the ruse. 

And sure, being around Clarke was slightly maddening, especially when she woke up in the morning all sleepy and grumpy, with her shirt falling off her shoulder and she leaned into him as he poured coffee into her favorite “because I’m the teacher, that’s why” mug. But Bellamy also knew that who they were to each other was just partners, roommates, friends. Close friends, but just friends. And without the nagging of his asshole friends, he could accept that. 

Besides, it was the very next week after they moved in that the end of the school year panic started to set in. They were too busy working to worry about their fake marriage, as they prepared for finals and state tests and projects and portfolios and evaluations and performances and even the search for a new interim assistant principal, since Diana Sydney had defected to a school in the suburbs where she would be paid twice as much and the kids were all rich and shiny. Fine. Good riddance, she was awful and said she supported their inner-city students, but in the end, always looked down on them for the struggles they went through and because their test scores weren’t high enough. He was glad she was gone, but that meant he was on the committee to interview new candidates, and he was damn sure he wouldn’t let them hire some elitist conservative in the guise of a liberal. He still fumed about Diana Sydney, and Clarke would crack open a bottle of wine and sit with him on the couch and listen to him rant. 

It was easier. It was frighteningly easy to slip into being roommates with Clarke Griffin. At least, once their asshole friends went back to their asshole lives. Sure Raven was around every day, as their co-teacher, but not only did Raven prefer to focus on work and teaching and the kids, but she also got bored fast, and this “fake marriage” between he and Clarke was going nowhere. Raven was a professional, also. She didn’t mix her pranks and teasing with their job at school, which was education and pedagogy. Not fake marriage. 

It was slightly more difficult to deal with their fake marriage when they went out to their bar, where Miller bartended and stood amongst his bottles and glasses smirking at them and making snide comments about love and marriage and settling down. He did it more when Bellamy was alone. When he’d gone down early to save their favorite bar seats, while Clarke was helping her kids with their art portfolios and Raven was fighting the other science and math teacher on the direction their department should go.

So Bellamy was alone in the bar with Miller telling a story about something his idiot patrons had done the night before when Clarke stormed in the bar.

She stalked up to him and poked him in the chest with a sharp finger. “What did you do!”

“Uh oh,” Miller said, “Wifey’s mad. Someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Shut up, Miller,” Bellamy growled.

“You idiot!” She shoved his chest this time with her whole hand. She was strong.

“Do you mind?” He turned to Clarke, getting pissed at her manhandling. He didn’t get to handle her in ways he might like, so she didn’t get to handle him, either. 

“You’re damn right I mind. You hired Vera’s nephew as our new assistant principal.”

He blinked. His anger drained right out of him. “What are you talking about.”

“Roan Isley. His mother was Vera’s estranged sister. She kicked him out of the house and Vera took him in. He’s one of her kids that she always talks about. You absolute idiot.”

“No he’s not. He didn’t say anything to me.” It couldn’t be. 

“Oh yes he is. He was taking a tour of the school and stopped by my room to see the kids’ portfolios being assembled. He said he’d told Vera he was going to stay in the city because he was hired at our school. And SHE told him that her new tenants were working there.” Her eyes were wide. He felt his own eyes growing wide. “Bellamy. When he met me, he told me he’d already met my husband. I of course looked at him like he was crazy, and he said, “Oh Mr Blake, the history teacher.’”

Bellamy swallowed heavily. “What?” The word barely came out.

“Bellamy. There were KIDS in the room with me. Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“The KIDS heard him say that you were my HUSBAND.”

Bellamy clutched at the bar. Miller plopped down two shots of god knows what in front of them. ‘You guys are fucked,” he said. And he didn’t think that was a grin on his face, but yeah, it kind of looked like a grin. Holy shit. 

Bellamy tossed down the shot and closed his eyes. Nasty shot. Miller was a jerk. But he pushed the shot glass towards Miller and he filled it again. He wasn’t always a jerk. He tossed that one back too. “The kids already have been trying to set us up and figure out if we are dating and pushing us to…we’re fucked, Clarke. The kids heard. We have to be married at school too, now.”

Clarke took her shot and Miller filled it up again. He leaned across the bar. “Actually, you’re not going to play married at school. That would be too simple. What YOU’RE doing is pretending to be married while pretending not be married to cover up that you’re pretending to be married so you can get an apartment when you’re really pretending that you don’t want to be married in the first place.”

Bellamy stared at him not really able to put all that together. “Shut up, Miller.”

Clarke took her second shot. “Shut up, Miller.”

“Well at least you guys got one thing right. You’re fucked.” Then he smiled. “I’ve got to call Monty and Jasper.”

Fuck. 

***

It was a small school. Clarke and Bellamy tried to head off the rumors by coming clean with Roan “Call Me Roan” Isley. Well. Not really coming clean. 

“Listen Mr Isley—“

“Roan.”

“—Roan. Listen. We’re not actually married.”

Clarke grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand towards her chest. He swallowed. “We’re engaged,” she said. “But the real estate agent said Vera wanted a married couple.”

Bellamy gritted his teeth. “Clarke,” he warned. He didn’t think he could make it if he had to pretend that he was married to her at school, too. 

“Bellamy,” she warned back, tightening her lips. “Marcus already knows we’re not married. He agreed to the ruse if it makes Vera happy, and she’s happy.”

“But we’re not married,” he repeated. As if the phrase could salvage this travesty. “And we are not a couple here in school.”

Roan crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at them.

Clarke yanked on his hand again and he stumbled into her, grabbing onto her hip to keep his balance. “We don’t want our personal business to interfere with our work and our students are far too interested in our personal lives. It’s best if we keep things quiet around the kids. Otherwise that’s all they’ll talk about. They are already far too invested in our love lives.”

For once, that was something that was true. Not only had his students been trying to figure out his sexual preferences and who they could hook him up with, but they also had been none too subtle about hinting that they thought he should be with Clarke herself. The rumors about them had been going around the school pretty much since they started working there. He thought it was just a factor of having two relatively attractive single teachers who were friends and the hormonal adolescent obsession with romance. They were just platonic and the kids refused to see that. 

“So, when you’re in school, you’re just colleagues.”

“Yes. Exactly. And talking about our relationship and living accommodations is something we don’t do. The way Bellamy and I feel about each other is not a part of our classrooms and we’d like to keep it that way.” Clarke smiled and nodded, because he understood. Of course he understood a lie. But sometimes it was best to let Clarke do her thing and let her get things to work out. Because it was a lie that hurt no one.

Except Bellamy himself. And he’d made peace with that. He got more out of it than he lost. He loved his home and he loved… he suddenly felt like the bulletin board was very interesting. Clarke was still hanging onto his arm and he had his hand on her hip. He dropped it. “It’s not professional.”

“I understand. I’m sorry if I misunderstood.”

“Thank you Mr Isley—“

“Roan.”

“Roan.” 

The new assistant principal left. “See Bellamy? Everything is all fixed.” Clarke turned to him and smiled, so sure that she’d dealt with the problem. But Bellamy knew kids, and he knew the way their minds worked. And he was certain this was not over.

And that was how the student body began a campaign to get Mr Blake to fall in love with Ms Griffin. Or to admit that he was in love with her. He was sure the student body was split even odds on whether they were actually married or desperately in love with each other and tragically separated.

It was never ending, relentless, throughout the end of the school year, throughout their dramatic reading of Julius Caesar and their in class political debates. Throughout the art show and portfolios and test prep. Bellamy had never been so relieved to get to summer break, just to get away from the increasingly obvious attempts to throw Clarke and Bellamy together in romantic situations. 

Sometimes it felt as if all of lower Manhattan was conspiring to make Bellamy face how he felt about Clarke, and it was just not something he was ready to deal with. Not when what he already had with her was so great. He didn’t want to lose that. He would lose everything. So it was a pure relief when school ended and he could take a break from all the adolescent cupid wannabes.


	4. A Little Problem or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of Vera's house warming barbecue, and Bellamy and Clarke have to put on a show, and pretend they're really married. In front of EVERY BODY. Even Clarke's MOTHER.
> 
> They've never even kissed.

“We have a problem.”

Bellamy turned from the giant batch of guacamole he was making to look at Clarke. She was dressed in a pale blue sundress for the housewarming barbecue and her bare shoulders made his mouth water. But he could focus. “What problem do we have?” He had learned his lesson. Nothing was easy. And this housewarming extravaganza that Vera was hosting, inviting all their friends and all her “kids” was going to kill him. 

“My mom is in town.”

“Your mom.” Bellamy knew that Clarke loved her mom and loved to see her, but she lived in DC, and was very busy with her work as a surgeon and her charities and her whatever else it was that society people did in DC. He wasn’t quite sure. “Why is this a problem?”

“Well, my mom has a very… uhm… clear sense of right and wrong.”

“Good. I share that with her. Morals are good.”

“Yeah. Uhm. But she really hates lying.”

Bellamy blinked. He was beginning to see the problem. “No, Clarke.”

“I told her we were dating. She’s okay with the marriage fudge, her mother was very conservative and didn’t always understand more modern ways of doing things.”

“Clarke. Your mother thinks we’re living together. As a couple. Romantically. Your mother.”

“Why is that worse than Vera?”

“Because she’s your mother. Holidays. Visits. Your future. Grandchildren!”

“Grandchildren!” Clarke snorted. “You’re taking it too far. We’ve never even kissed.”

“Yeah. And now we have to pretend to be MARRIED and legitimately romantically involved, not only in front of the landlord but also our assistant principal and YOUR MOTHER.”

“And the school superintendent.”

“The superintendent is coming to our housewarming party? Why is the school superintendent coming to our housewarming party?”

“Jaha. You know, he’s the one that suggested this house and recommended us and I grew up with his son. I used to make pillow forts in his family room. He goes to Vera’s church or something.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Everything he’d heard about this housewarming party made him dread it more and more. It would have been fine with just their friends. They were in on the ruse. But this was huge. This was everyone. He braced himself on the counter and hung his head. This was too much. “We have to pretend to be married in front of everyone all night long, and do it convincingly. Clarke.”

“Bellamy, we’re great together. We just have to be ourselves. We don’t have to put anything on. We’re close already. We’re partners. We’re together. It’s going to be easy.”

He turned around and glared at her. “We have to pretend to be…” the words were so hard to say. “…In love.” He ground his teeth together. “And we’ve never even kissed.”

He watched emotions flit across her face and for once, he couldn’t really figure out what was going on in her head. She was a mystery. “We can fix that,” she said, and stepped up to him.

“What are you—“ he started. She looked at his lips. 

“We should practice first. In case…” she said, words trailing off.

His breath stuttered from his lungs. His brain stopped, but he reached for her waist. Not to push her away.

“Is it okay?” her voice was a bare whisper.

He nodded. 

She was tentative. Nervous. Her lips just brushed his and it was like the sun had come out from the clouds. Then she pulled away.

He flexed his fingers on her waist. “What kind of kiss is that? Are we married or Junior High kids at the prom?”

He pulled her back in and kissed her for real. His brain had long since shut off and he was just going on instinct, on feeling.

She gasped and he deepened the kiss, holding onto her jaw to get a better angle, licking at her lips. She opened for him. Her hands rose up to clutch at his back and he tangled his fingers into her silky hair. She pressed full length into him and his senses were dazzled. She tasted like peaches. She smelled like summer. She was so soft against him. He could have kissed her forever.

He pulled back. He shuttered his heart. This was not who they were to each other. But he couldn’t apologize. 

She laughed breathlessly and grinned, looking up at him through her lashes in a way that made him want to drag her back to his room and throw her down on the bed. “I don’t think anyone’s going to ask us to kiss like that either, outside of a porn shoot. Maybe something in the middle, more like this…” and instead of being bashful at what they’d just done or angry at him for kissing her way out of bounds, she came back in, with a smile, two hands on his face, and kissed him, firmly, but lovingly. She pulled back, and then gave him another peck. “Like we actually like each other?” She raised her eyebrows at him and her eyes were filled with joy. 

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s better.” Her lips were soft. They curved in a gentle smile. He stroked her cheekbone, and pressed his lips to hers. He pulled back just slightly. “Like we actually like each other. I think we can do that.”

She laughed and the sound filled him up. He laughed, too. “See, Bellamy? Don’t make everything such a drama all the time. We’re good. This is a party. We’re not married, but—but I love you anyway, and we’re great together. Yeah?”

His heart turned over when she said she loved him, but he knew she didn’t mean it the way he meant it. He laughed again and it was only a little bit at himself. “You gonna make me a friendship bracelet next? Spell out ‘BFF’ in beads?”

She slapped him on the chest, but then grabbed onto his bicep and slid her arm up to his shoulder to squeeze. “Clearly it would spell ‘hubby.’ Then she winked. 

“Clearly.”

“We good? You over your nerves?”

“We’re good. Not sure I’ll ever be over my nerves about lying to everyone about this.”

Her brows drew together. “If you want to break up— I mean, move out— we can look for another place. I mean, that is if you still want to live with me. We don’t have to.” She swallowed.

“No. That’s not what I meant.” He sighed deeply. “It feels like we should be part of a play or something, but really, we’re just us and not doing anything differently are we? Just telling people that we’re together. And then acting the same.”

“Nothing different so far. And Bellamy, I’m really happy this way.”

He was too. He was happy. She made him so happy. And he didn’t want to lose that happiness, even if he yearned for more from her. Yearned to hold her tight, and kiss her for real. He licked his lips, remembering. It was for real. But he wanted to kiss her when it was real for her too. 

He realized he was staring at her as she waited for him to respond. He wanted it to be real. She blinked when it took him too long. He saw a fear slip into her eyes, as if he was about to tell her he wasn’t happy living with her. Wasn’t happy being with her, in whatever this was. As friends. Partners. “I’m happy too, Clarke,” and she let out her breath.

Their front door slammed open before he could add the “…but…” that was on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’m here bitches! Now the party can begin! Holy crap is this place awesome! Now I see why you lost your mind.”

“Octavia!” Bellamy shouted, hurrying to intercept her before she shouted any secrets throughout the house with open windows and a courtyard full of people who only knew the lie. 

His sister was visiting from Ann Arbor where she lived with her boyfriend, come specifically for this. They’d had a falling out some time back and had been slowly working their way back together. They talked regularly and he’d visited her in Michigan, but she hadn’t come to New York, not since he’d gotten close with Clarke. Not until now. Now that she knew he was faking a marriage to get an apartment, she’d done whatever she could to cover her shifts so she could come, torture him, and see the ridiculous situation he’d been tweeting her about. 

“Octavia…” he said again as he walked into the living room and she was spinning around slowly, taking in the beamed ceilings, hard wood floors, and french doors and windows. “Octavia… You’re going to be good, right?”

She looked at him and made a face that made him more suspicious than ever. 

“Why would you think I wouldn’t be good, Bell?” Her face lit up. “So is this my new sister in law?” 

“Octavia,” Clarke said, her hand outstretched for a shake as she came out of the kitchen. “It’s so good to mee—“ Octavia grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a hug. Bellamy winced. He knew how strong Octavia was and how tight those hugs were. Sometimes they felt like some sort of aggressive maneuver she learned in her martial arts classes. 

Octavia released Clarke and she stepped back. “Oh. Okay.” She looked back and forth between Bellamy and Octavia.

“Clarke, meet my sister, Octavia. Octavia, do not attack Clarke.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “So married at the courthouse, huh? Yeah. I never would have believed that. Because, he may act all cool, but my brother is a romantic. Ro. Man. Tic. He’d want to be married in some, like, garden or shit. With all his friends and family around him. And like I’d have to bake the cake for him with all my fancy pastry school learning. Oh, hey!” She smiled evilly and pointed out the door at the garden. “This is the perfect garden for a wedding with your closest friends and family.”

“Shut up, O.”

“LOL.”

“Don’t say LOL, O. This is not a text.”

“ROFLMAO.”

“Shut up, O.”

“Yeah, where’s my room? I need to freshen up.” 

“Up the stairs and on the right.” She gestured behind her at the duffel bag in front of the door. 

Octavia went up the stairs, whistling in approval at the carriage house. “A skylight! OMG Bellamy, you are sleeping under the stars! Can you see the constellations?” she yelled down the stairs before whatever she was saying got too garbled to understand. 

“So that’s your sister. You always talk about her like she’s a dangerous weapon.”

“Hmm,” he said, noncommittally

“I can take her.” She looked up at him through her lashes again, and his stomach flipped. “There’s a reason the kids call me Commander of Death.”

“Yeah because you fail them if they don’t do what you say.”

“Correct. I think this is going to be fun.” She gave him a dazzling smile. He was dazzled. “Hey Octavia, let me show you the bathroom,” she called, and started up the stairs.

Great. He had more things to be worried about.


	5. The Sangria Was More Potent Than Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garden Party. Clarke pretending to love him. Too much sangria. Magical fairy lights. It was just all so damn magical.

When twilight fell, the garden became fucking magical.

Bellamy was having a hard time not being entirely swept away in the purple shadows and sweet flower scent, the fairy lights that Raven and Monty had rigged throughout the canopy of the trees and over the patio, and the way that Clarke looked when she caught his eye across the garden, laughing in the middle of some other conversation with her mother and others. 

Bellamy was having a hard time catching his breath. He smiled back at her and she winked. He ducked his head and felt himself blush. 

“See?” Octavia leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Ro. Man. Tic. You are in love with that girl.”

“Shut up, O.” He took a big swallow of Vera’s sangria. It was delicious. Sweet and fruity but not too much. And refreshing. There was a taste to it he couldn’t identify.

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t mess up your game. I think it’s going to turn out very differently than how you expect it to.”

“Oh you think it’s funny that I’m going to crash and burn and lose everything, do you?”

She leaned back and looked at him, shocked. “No. I think she’s going to fall in love with you too and you’re going to get married.”

“That’s not a funny joke. “

She blinked at him. And made a silent O with her mouth. “You’re really twisted up about this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smiled slightly. Took a sip of her sangria. “I guess you don’t. I’m going to find Monty and Jasper and hang out with them. I’m glad you kept them when I left. You always complained about them eating us out of house and home and waking up sunday morning with them sleeping on our living room floor, but they kind of looked at you as their big brother, too. Thanks for keeping them. I couldn’t take care of them while I was off in the big bad world.”

He glared at her. “They’re fine. They’re great. Besides, I couldn’t get rid of them if I tried.”

“Not only are you romantic, but you’re soft. You never tried to get rid of them. They were my friends, but they’re your kids, now. And that means you take care of them. You know. You’re just like Vera.” Octavia nodded at the garden full of people, Vera wandering around, huge smile on her face and a pitcher of sangria in her hand, as she met their friends and introduced them to her kids. “You adopt them. They become family. Just the way it is. And Clarke, she’s yours now. She’s your family.”

He glared at her harder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means go play hubby now.” 

“Bellamy!” 

He started as Clarke came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. She was flushed with alcohol. He could smell the sangria on her breath as she kissed his neck and murmured into his ear. Deliriously fruity. “Vera wants to do her ceremony now. We have to go to the plum tree.” 

He swallowed, stunned a little bit as Clarke slid around to his front and fluttered her eyes at him. He could fall into the blue shadows of those eyes.

She took him by the hand, and he was a little drunk, he thought. And she was more drunk than he was, and he would have let her lead him anywhere, although his urge was to take her back to her room and lay her back on the bed and…

“Welcome, friends. Bellamy. Clarke. Welcome to our home and our lives and to the tree of life. We gather here today to honor the bond of love and family, to ask for blessings and fertility as we begin, together, our new life.”

Bellamy felt dizzy. “But this isn’t a new life.”

Clarke giggled and tucked her face into the crook of his neck, while her arms reached around his waist again. 

Vera smiled fondly at them and brought a hand to his cheek. “Every day is the beginning. Every moment the world is turning. All time is a new life. And we honor that in our union. The possibility. The future. The chance for growth and love and beginning.”

“Oh,” he whispered. Clarke’s fingers slid along his waistband, under his shirt. He should remove them. But they were married. He swallowed heavily. He was going to have to stop drinking. He was going to have to start paying attention. He leaned down to Clarke. “Clarke, pay attention.” She hmmm-ed and nuzzled her nose against his collarbone. His heart was beating so fast. 

Vera was saying something or other to the gathered friends and family. She held up these little charms that looked like porcelain and crystal, and he heard her call their names and some of the people repeated the names after but he really couldn’t focus. Clarke’s hands were sliding up under his shirt. Her lips were soft on his shoulder. Not kissing. No. Just there. Barely pressing against his skin. 

“Clarke, please,” he whispered. She had to stop. 

“Yes,” she said. The words soft and blurred. Her breath puffing warm against his skin. “Yes.”

“No Clarke, no.” He took her hands from under his shirt and tangled his fingers with hers. 

“Clarke, yes,” she said, smiling sleepily while he held both her hands, and rose up on tip toes to kiss him. 

Vera was watching.

“She’s a little drunk, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, with that gentle smile still. We’re done with the Tree Ceremony. Go sit by the fire. Everyone. When you are ready, you can tie your ribbons to the branches.” Ribbons? What had he missed?

“Come on, baby,” he said, loud enough for others to hear. He felt her shiver against him. He leaned into her ear. “Dial it back, Clarke. You’re drunk.” 

“You’re no fun,” she sighed impatiently, and then tugged on his hands leading him to the adirondack chairs. She stumbled and he had to let go of her hand and catch ahold of her hips to keep her from falling. She laughed and leaned back into him and then, pushed him into the chair.

“You sit,” she commanded. Then she slid into his lap and wrapped both arms around his neck. “There that’s better. I was getting dizzy.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“In the best way.” She kissed his cheek and before he could get her to stop, the rest of the chairs were filled. Vera, her son, Marcus Kane, their real landlord who may not have thought they were married but certainly thought they were a couple, as did her mom, who was looking at her daughter in Bellamy’s lap with a happiness that kind of startled Bellamy. Every time he’d met her before, she’d been harried and serious. Clarke always said her mom worked too hard, but she seemed relaxed and happy here. He watched as she leaned over to talk to Marcus. With the way they smiled at each other and looked into each other’s eyes, Bellamy wondered if that was why. 

He poked Clarke in the side to get her to stop nuzzling his neck (it was getting distracting in some serious ways at this point.) “Hey, Clarke,” he muttered. “Look at that. I think your mom is flirting with Marcus Kane.”

That made Clarke swivel her head to look. Her mouth dropped open, but then she turned back to whisper in his ear again. “I think Marcus is flirting with my mom, Bellamy. We need to make this happen.” She wiggled in his lap and he almost groaned, but then she turned to face everyone. “Mom!” she said louder than she needed to. “You should stay over in our guest room tonight. You don’t need to go back to your hotel. Stay and have fun here.”

“Oh what a lovely idea!” Vera said. “I’ll be having a waffle brunch in the morning, since my son is staying the night. We can have a lovely time!” Her eyes twinkled. She was so happy. 

Bellamy pinched Clarke’s hip. “Ow.”

“My sister is already staying in our guest room, honey,” he said trying not to grit his teeth. Hoping the “honey” would point out that they weren’t exactly going to be able to keep up their relationship ruse while her mom was staying with them.

“Oh.” Clarke’s eyes got comically wide. “I forgot.”

“Oh hey, no problem.” Octavia grinned. “I can sleep on the couch. It’s a great couch. Very cozy. Abby can take… the guest room.” She took a big swallow of her sangria then and kept her eyes on Bellamy over the rim of her glass.

“Please stay, Abby. I know my son would love to have brunch with you in the morning.”

“I…” for a second it looked like Abby was going to refuse. But then she smiled and Bellamy saw her resemblance to her daughter. She was beautiful. “Okay. I will stay. I don’t get to spend enough time with my daughter… or Bellamy.” She added the last on and ducked her head. 

Marcus Kane looked pleased next to her. As did Abby. Even though neither of them were looking at each other. 

Clarke poked Bellamy in the ribs, then hooked her elbow around his neck to whisper in his ear. “They like each other, Bellamy. We should hook them up. My mom should be happy like us.”

“Like us. Clarke, you realize that this means I’m going to have to sleep in your room, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Yeah. With me. Let’s go to bed, Bellamy. I’m so tired.” Without waiting for his reply, she flopped backwards so he had to grab her to keep her from falling out of his lap. “Bellamy’s taking me to bed, now,” she announced to the whole party.

Bellamy heard his friends laugh, but he didn’t have the attention to spare to give them the death glare because Clarke had gone boneless in his arms. 

“Clarke,” he called to her.

“Mm.” She said and shook her head. “Take me to bed, Bellamy.”

He let out a breath. “I’m sorry. She’s a lot drunker than I thought she was.”

Vera twinkled her eyes at him. “Oh don’t worry, my sangria’s more potent than it seems and if you’re not prepared for it, it can pack quite a wallop. She’ll be fine. No one’s ever gotten a hangover from my sangria.”

He shot her a look. “What is it? Magic?” He tried to gather Clarke in his arms, she wasn’t helping.

Vera just smiled.

“Don’t worry about us, Bellamy,” Octavia said grinning at her brother. “We’ll take care of ourselves and I’ll show Abby the guest room for you. Go take care of your wife.” She grinned with lots of teeth. Miller stood behind her and grinned with the same amount of teeth. So did Raven. 

He narrowed his eyes at them but couldn’t very well curse them out the way he wanted to in front of all the people who were not a part of the ruse. “Thanks,” he said tightly. 

“You’re welcome,” Octavia chimed, blinking innocently at him. 

He glared at her, but ultimately decided he’d better deal with the blonde in his arms. “Can you walk?” he murmured to her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Nope. Don’t want to.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He stood with her in his arms. She was a warm, heavy weight that filled his heart. He relished the feel of her against him. He swallowed heavily. “Sorry to leave our own housewarming party.”

“We like Vera better than you anyway,” Miller grinned, shifting closer to Jackson, one of Vera’s “kids,” who had shown up to meet the new tenants. “She’s our host.”

“Great. Good to know. Thanks for the party Vera.”

She walked over and brushed Clarke’s golden hair back from her face, “And you’re welcome for the sangria.”

“Thank you!” Clarke sing songed. Bellamy just stared at Vera. She was a weird lady. 

“Okay then, I’m just going to put her down and maybe I’ll be back.”

“Oh don’t be silly. Have a good night, see you tomorrow for brunch. Don’t mind us. Roan, dear. Please put on one of my records. The spanish guitar please. I think that’s what this garden party needs.”

“Yes, Vera.”

“Good night,” Bellamy said. “Say good night, Clarke.”

Clarke lolled her head back and waved, “Good night, Clarke!”

They all said good night and Bellamy turned and carried her through the garden path. The record player started up and strains of guitar strumming floated through the night, catching on the fairy lights and soft breeze.

“I’m funny,” Clarke said.

“You’re funny all right.” He sighed. “Clarke, what were you doing back there? I know it’s all an act but you took it too far.” 

“You’re my husband, Bellamy. I love you.”

His heart flipped over and it hurt. 

She kissed the spot on his collar bone that she could reach.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about Clarke. There’s no need for this. And no one’s watching now anyway. Dial it back already.”

“You can put me to bed.” There was a sharp edge to her voice.

He didn’t talk anymore. They got to the house and he took her up the stairs, nudging his way into her room and putting her on the bed. He sat down on the edge and picked up her foot, unbuckling her sandal. She didn’t say anything. He took off the other sandal and went to the closet, where he found sweatpants and a tee for himself and a nightshirt for her. She watched him. 

“Here, put this on.” He tossed it and it landed next to her on the bed. She still watched, saying nothing. “It’ll be fine. I’ll sleep on the floor. No problem. Get changed and I’ll be back in a minute.”

She still didn’t say anything. He left the room and went back downstairs, changed and brushed his teeth and got some tylenol for her. Vera said no one got hangovers from her sangria but he doubted that. Then he went to the kitchen and poured her a big glass of water. 

He paused. Waiting. It wasn’t enough time for her to change. Not for sure. Not drunk the way she was. He’d have to give her some more time, because he could not bear walking into the room with her in any sort of state of undress. He poured himself a drink of water and drank that. Slowly. He could still hear the spanish guitar playing in the garden, and laughter and muted conversation. The party continued on.

And upstairs in her room, Clarke was drunk and in bed and had been all over him in a way he could not handle. If he waited long enough, she’d probably be passed out. He waited. Listened to the guitar play. When the song ended, he took a deep breath and headed up to go to sleep for the night. He grabbed a book along the way because he’d probably be unable to sleep on the floor, knowing she was right there. 

The room was silent when he went in. He put the tylenol and water next to her on the bedside table. “Clarke? You awake?” he whispered.

For a minute he thought she’d passed out, dead asleep. Then he heard her sniffle.

“Clarke?”

A broken sob.

“Clarke.” He brushed her hair back and her face was wet with tears. “Clarke, what’s the matter?”

She rolled over and away from him. Curling around herself. Her body shaking with sobs although she kept them silent.

His heart broke. He couldn’t watch her cry. “Baby—Clarke, honey. What happened?” 

She shook her head but continued to cry. A sob broke free. 

“No, no, no. Clarke, honey, no.” And he was sliding into bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her while she cried. She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest and sobbed. “Sweetheart…” He just held her. Combed his fingers through her hair, stroked her shoulders. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He let her cry herself out, until the deep sobs had become sniffles. He reached over and grabbed the box of tissues from the table and handed her a wad. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head, wiping her nose. 

“Okay.” He sat up and she clutched at him. “I’m just getting you some water, okay?”

She nodded and when he handed her the glass, she drank half of it. He took it back. She blew her nose. 

“You okay now?”

She shook her head, looking up at him with large liquid eyes, her face flushed, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks. He reached out to push it back. “You should sleep. I’ll get some blankets and set up on the floor—“

Her face crumpled. “Please stay,” she said. 

He blinked. His heart beating so fast. She was drunk. Something had set her off and she was far too emotional right now. He swallowed and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Okay,” he said, “just until you fall asleep,” and he was stupid. Because he’d liked having her in his arms, pressed up against him, even crying. He’d liked it far too much.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who had too much of Vera’s sangria. Perhaps he also was a bit drunk, because he agreed to lay down with the woman he was in love with, who didn’t feel the same. The woman who was emotional and drunk and needed a friend. And he knew he was stupid to do it, to put his heart on the line like that and torture himself with the feel of her soft breasts against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his back and held on, as she pressed her nose into his neck behind his ear. As he felt her warm puffs of breath on his skin and smelled her honeysuckle shampoo, he slid his hands up and down her back, tracing the narrows of her waist and settling on her hips, not going any further. 

He had to be drunk. It was the only explanation for why he’d let himself fall so much deeper and let himself open his heart that last little bit. There was no escaping. He was Clarke’s now. She could do anything to him now, and he knew he was doomed because she didn’t feel the same way and that meant he was at her mercy.

It was that sweet doom he was considering when he fell asleep to her gentle breathing and the softness of her sleeping form in his arms.


	6. Drinking Sangria Leads To Poor Decision Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Clarke touched him as if she wanted him to be more than just a fake marriage, Bellamy couldn't handle just being her drunken fling. He needed to put some distance between them.
> 
> But the summer and the night and the sangria and the garden seemed to have different plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen nonny. Look what you made me do. This was NOT supposed to happen. But you asked. And you made me take this story in a different direction. I'm now skipping the angst, which I'm kind of glad for. 
> 
> "Rosy! Would you like to consider to have Bellamy in your current ff learning to use bow and arrow? And Clarke watching him in Vera's backyard? It's for his history class of course! "

When he woke up, it was later than usual. His eyes opened on Clarke’s floral sheets and he smelled her shampoo still on the pillow. He closed his eyes to relish it. Then he remembered last night and his heart started beating faster.

Clarke. 

Clarke with her kisses. Clarke with her tears. What was happening? Where had she gone? 

Because she was not there. 

He was alone in Clarke’s room. In Clarke’s bed, with her smell still surrounding him and the memory of the way her body felt in his arms slowly fading away. He groaned and sat up. She’d been so drunk, and she’d done things that he was sure she never would have done otherwise. And he’d wanted it to be so real. Maybe he’d had the thought that in the morning, she’d still want to be in his arms, that she would have turned over and looked at him, without tears or sangria drunkenness, and she would have loved him for real. That last night would have changed something.

But she was not there. 

He threw his feet over the edge of the bed and went downstairs, expecting his sister to be there to dig at him while he played dutiful boyfriend/pretend husband to Clarke in front of her mother. His heart was fractured now and he wasn’t sure how he’d manage the game.

But there was no one in the carriage house at all. He checked the kitchen. There wasn’t even any coffee in the coffee maker, and that was entirely unlike Clarke. 

Clarke.

Clarke with her drunken affection that had just about driven him mad last night because he wanted it to be real.

He heard her laughter through the open window. 

Brunch with Vera. He remembered now. He checked the clock. It was already 11 am. He never slept late. That’s why he liked the east facing room with the skylight and he could wake early. He scrubbed his hand over his face. He needed to go see them all, all the people he was playing the ruse for, Vera, Marcus, Abby, and also his sister who knew the truth. 

He went to back to Clarke’s room and got his clothes. Unlike normal, he didn’t return to his room to get dressed. He changed there, stripping out of his sweats and putting on jeans and a tee, feeling odd being naked, if only for a minute, in Clarke’s room. His stomach flipped over. He realized he was anxious to see Clarke, Clarke and the way she nuzzled his neck. Clarke.

He wanted to see her. 

Eagerly he left the house and went through the garden paths. They were remarkably green today. Greener than usual and it didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was something about waking up so late, his senses were not used to the brilliance of the colors.

“Hey, sleepy head!” Clarke chirped brightly, seeing him first as he came down the curving brick path that made the garden seem larger than it was. His heart beat fast at her wide smile.

He walked right up to her trying to catch her eye, to see if any of last night was real, but instead she handed him a cup of coffee prepared just the way he liked it and gave him a firm kiss on the cheek. She didn’t meet his eyes, but she wrapped a hand around his bicep and lead him into a chair at the garden table. She placed a plate of waffles and bacon in front of him. 

“Vera was just telling us what it was like teaching in New York public schools in the 70s. You would not believe some of her stories, honey.” Clarke had such a bright smile, chattering on with Vera and the others, including him, but barely looking at him. She was solicitous towards him and filled his coffee again before he’d even finished, but she never touched him but for that one kiss on the cheek, and when she took his hand to walk with him back through the garden after the brunch was over, Abby and Octavia talking easily with her. 

Everyone was so happy. Clarke swung his arm between them like they were kids. Happy wife. It was all an act. He might as well not have been there at all. He felt heavy as a stone on this warm summer day in the beautiful garden. The girl he loved holding his hand for pretend.

They got to the carriage house and she dropped his hand and went about neatening up the kitchen as Abby went upstairs to pack up the last of her things back to her hotel, and Octavia went to the bath room.

They were alone. 

“So,” Bellamy said, leaning up against the kitchen doorframe, watching Clarke scrub with uncommon zeal at the porcelain sink. “No hangover, huh?”

Clarke spun around and looked him right in the eye for the first time since last night when she was all over him. “Nope!” she said, her face sparkling with innocence. “No effect at all.”

His mouth went dry. He could only stare at her. And she stared back. He wasn’t sure either of them were breathing. 

“Bellamy!” Octavia called from the other room. 

Bellamy cleared his throat. Her meaning was clear. She’d been drunk. That was all. “Good.” He said, and turned. And left. 

The rest of the summer continued on much like that. Everything fine. Beautiful even. The garden was gorgeous. The carriage house was lovely. They watched tv and ate dinner and chatted. Perfect fake marriage. Great roommates. And underneath it, his heart, broken. 

***

Before they’d lived together— no before the house warming party, and that night when Clarke had touched him like she wanted him— Clarke and Bellamy had done everything together. That was part of why everyone at school had called them married and why, somehow, the landlord had apparently gotten the idea that they were together in the first place. But now, with the long days of summer stretching out before them, Clarke and Bellamy really spent very little time together. Not spending time with her left a gaping hole in his life. He was surprised and kind of terrified of it. That was why he got back to writing his book that he’d been thinking about for years really.

Even when they were in the house together, Bellamy would be busy writing in his room while Clarke was in the kitchen. Or Clarke would be painting at an easel she’d set up in the garden while Bellamy was watching movies in the living room. Once Vera stopped by to give them some muffins, and found Bellamy in his bedroom. Luckily, it was still serving as their “office” and “library” and filled with his books instead of clothes, was easy to pass of just “working” and not avoiding his fake wife who he was in love with and who didn’t feel the same way back. He was certain she was avoiding him, too, and Vera must have noticed that they were rarely in the same place at the same time, except for dinner, three or four times a week. When they weren’t out. Doing things. 

Vera continued to ask about his novel that he was writing, and he continued to give her vague, undefined answers about large concepts, like “It’s about how history always repeats itself and if we don’t learn from our mistakes we will be doomed.” Or “It’s about the inherent gray morality of humanity and how if we don’t incorporate the opposing elements of the masculine and feminine we will destroy ourselves.”

He could get away with that because he was a history teacher and he knew the grand themes that intimidated people. He didn’t have to admit that he was writing a story about his love for Clarke, set in the apocalypse, and how their love was epic and would save the world. 

He didn’t have to admit that to Vera. He didn’t have to admit it Clarke. Hell. He didn’t have to admit it to anyone. It was his summer project and he was damned to hell if he was going to show anyone his dystopic science fiction novel that was really just a love letter to Clarke.

He was a fucking fool. A fool. 

***

Clarke was experimenting with risotto. She’d make something fancy two or three times a week and coerce him into eating dinner with her to try it. Not that it was a hardship, eating her gourmet experiments. Most of them came out great. And then he’d have to pay her back by making her the comfort food he’d learned while his mom worked nights and he cooked for Octavia. Things like mac and cheese and beef stew and lasagne. 

The hardship was sitting and having dinner with her, and how natural it was and how well they got along. And how he wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, and draw her into his arms and kiss her like he didn’t that night of the housewarming party. 

He tried to fill the conversation with inconsequentialities, because he did not want to address that night, or his feelings for her which he was sure were obvious, and horrible. And he was a fool. 

The risotto had saffron and peas and shrimp and it was delicious, because even when she was just trying things out, she was brilliant. Bellamy tried to pretend he didn’t worship her and was laughing about his dumb story that he was writing. “…I’ve got everyone hoodwinked into thinking I’m actually writing a real novel worth reading instead of just some collection of pages of nonsense .”

Clarke carefully put down her fork and swallowed her mouthful of food. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed. “Nothing. I just tell people all sorts of high faluting sounding stuff so I don’t actually have to tell them what it’s about because it’s the silliest bit of fluff you’ve ever heard. Post-apocalyptic science fiction. I might as well be writing fairy tales and flying elephants.”

“Are you serious?”

Bellamy laughed uncomfortably. “What do you mean? It’s just a thing to pass the time with. I’ve watched too much Walking Dead and Star Wars and Game of Thrones. That’s all. It’s just some dumb summer thing until I get back to work.”

She glared at him. “I’ve been listening to you, you know. You’re writing a novel. It’s not nonsense.”

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “Stop.” He turned back to his risotto and took another bite. “This is really good. You should make this again sometime.”

“Bellamy, don’t change the subject. You’re doing something you’ve always wanted to do, write a novel. It’s about the dark nature of humanity and the fight to bring light into the darkness.”

He looked up at her shocked.”What?” He didn’t like to admit that he was serious about this writing thing. He was a teacher. He was the dependable guy who made sure everyone was on track and who paid the bills on time, and cleaned up after people. He kept that selfish side under wraps, let it out only rarely, maybe after too many drinks or doing whatever he had to do to win a game on the soccer field. 

And this. Writing this novel that had been swimming around in his brain for years now. He’d found the key with the love story, with Clarke. It was pure selfishness, wish fulfillment, passion. He wasn’t doing it for anyone else, and he couldn’t shake the guilt.

“Did you think I didn’t notice how much effort you were putting into this? Did you think I didn’t notice the way you talked about. Why do you think I took my painting outside.”

“Because the garden is beautiful.” He found himself holding his fork half way to his mouth, frozen, because this felt like a confrontation. This felt like something real coming out into the open. He put his fork down. 

“Don’t give me that, Bellamy. You’re a brilliant, talented man, and I won’t let you devalue yourself, do you hear me? I expect to read that novel and I know how wonderful it is, because I hear your ideas and I believe in you.”

The thought of her reading his book chilled him. Because it was all about her. It was about them. It was about how much he loved her and how with her, he could take on the world, even if the world was melting down around him. It was not even disguised. It was something he could never have, sharing the book with her. He had never intended anyone to read it. He glared. “Don’t give me your inspirational teacher shit, Clarke.”

She pushed back from the table and stood up glaring. “You think I’m being your teacher? I’m being your friend! I’m being your—“ She stopped and swallowed. Wife. She had been about to say wife. 

She stepped around table and took his hand and pulled him to standing. “Bellamy I—“

His phone rang. 

He was trembling. He didn’t like it but he was. 

Miller was calling. Bellamy answered his phone despite the dark glare that Clarke sent him, because he needed the space from her.

“Hey man, Jackson and I are going to the Jazz Festival in Tompkins Square park tomorrow. You and Clarke want to come?”

He looked at Clarke, staring at him so intently. He felt exposed. His love for her was right on the surface and he was just a roommate to her. Maybe a hook up when she was drunk. The thought chilled him that he could be such light weight thing for her, when just her lips against the skin of his neck had made him hers. He had to get some distance.

“Clarke has plans with Raven, but I’ll go with you guys.”

Clarke raised her eyebrow in a question, as if they hadn’t done everything separately since school ended. As if living together wasn’t too much. As if she wasn’t trying to get away from him. And he was trying to get away from her. But he couldn’t let her know he was trying to get away from her, because the only reason he had was because he was in love with her and she didn’t love him back. He couldn’t . He couldn’t.

He took a deep breath. “You’re doing that thing with Raven, right? Miller and Jackson are going to the Jazz Festival.”

She made an “O” with her mouth. “Yeah. I have plans with Raven.” She looked sad. He shouldn’t feel relieved that she couldn’t go with them, particularly when she looked sad about it. But he was. 

“Yeah, She can’t make it. I’ll meet you guys there.” 

“No wifey? Really? You guys okay.”

He forced a smile on his face. “Yeah we’re fine. No big deal.” Clarke turned away. 

Miller went on for a bit more but then he hung up. Clarke was clearing the table. Her shoulders tight. 

“You’ll have fun with Raven.” He felt like he needed to say something. He didn’t know why. “What are you doing?”

“Going to see Wonder Woman again.”

“You love that movie.”

She looked at him. Her eyes were huge and dark. Like she was telling him something. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to listen.

“Hey let me clean up for you. You made dinner.”

She waved him away. “No. I made you come eat with me when I know you were in the middle of a genius writing session.”

“I”m not a genius.”

“Hmm,” she said, gathering the dishes. “I bet you are. Someday when you let me read it, I’ll know it for sure.”

He froze at the thought. She saw.

“Yeah. You go write. I got this. Good night, Bellamy.” The words were so soft and she turned around and slipped into the kitchen with the dishes. He felt like he was losing something and he didn’t know how to fix it. He chewed his lip for a minute, heard the water in the sink go on. Then retreated to his room to write his story about how much he loved his roommate, but set in a world where she loved him back.With all her heart and soul. With an epic love. He retreated to his fantasy.

***

The next day, Bellamy left early, before Clarke woke up. He could admit to himself that he was running away from her. He was just going to have brunch with them in the east village and get to know Miller’s new boyfriend better. And then they were going to hang out in the East Village until the Jazz festival. They set up a blanket early so they could get a good spot and listened to the opening bands play while chatting about everything and nothing. 

He flirted with some girls in the park, but it didn’t feel right. The effort it would take to get to know one of them seemed too huge. And for some reason, the idea of picking someone up and just having meaningless sex did not appeal to him anymore. He used to do it all the time, but looking back now, it felt more like he hooked up because it was expected of him as some sort of alpha male. As if it was the role he had to play as a guy. And now that he’d gotten older, he didn’t really feel like that was a role he wanted or needed to play. The girls were pretty. They clearly wanted him, especially the blonde who wore her hair like Clarke did, but he didn’t care if they wanted him.

For some reason. As if he didn’t know what the reason was.

He looked at the pretty girls in their sundresses, with their big smiles and and flirtatious eyes and wandered back to the blanket where Miller was sitting with Jackson, talking about The Walking Dead. 

“Struck out with the hotties?” Miller laughed.

“Sure.” Bellamy said and sat next to them. He’d brought some of Vera’s sangria because they’d asked for some, and Miller brought bread and cheese and salami and fruit and they sat there and ate like they were cultured or something. Bellamy had the feeling it was because Miller was trying to impress Jackson, a doctor, and wealthy, while he himself was just a bartender who’d been in trouble too many times to count. So Bellamy took pity on him and let him steer the conversation to his book instead of mocking Miller for trying to impress Jackson. Because Bellamy was a good friend, and he only teased him a little. 

It was easy to dip in and out of the conversation while they were listening to the bands play and getting just a bit tipsy on sangria. He didn’t tell them the whole plot of the story, just little bits that he thought they’d like. About the end of the world and the mutant monsters, and the one bunch that was like zombies, but really wasn’t. They liked the fight scenes. And the idea of zombie actually being caused by mad scientists. He argued that this was truer to the reality of zombies from Haiti than the idea of zombies being the actual living dead, like on The Walking Dead. Which was actually impossible. But that must have pissed Jackson off a little, because he was a huge fan of the show and the comics.

“So you’ve got your main character using a cross bow like Daryl on The Walking Dead, huh? That’s kind of derivative, don’t you think?”

“Nah, not like Daryl. A bow and arrow. Crossbow is too easy. Bow and arrow takes skill.”

“Don’t dis Daryl, Bellamy, I won’t stand for it,” Jackson narrowed his eyes and pointed his cheese at him.

Miller laughed and leaned into Jackson. “Don’t fight boys. Look Bellamy, Eric really loves Daryl.”

Bellamy raised his glass in a toast. “Daryl is awesome. But I’m an archery man. I used to compete in high school and actually got a scholarship for archery in college. It paid for my history degree.”

Jackson looked impressed at that. “Really? You must be really good.”

“I’m pretty good. I could have made the olympics team, but I had some family things going on and had to take a hiatus, and by the time I got back, my window had passed.”

Jackson stared. “You, Bellamy Blake, almost made the Olympic archery team.”

“He’s straight, Eric,” Miller said, and Bellamy wasn’t sure if he was really jealous or just acting jealous.

“Hey.”

Bellamy looked up.

Clarke stood there, in cut off jeans and a tank top, miles of long legs and golden hair blowing in the breeze. He swallowed.

“What are you doing here?”

Clarke opened her mouth to answer but said nothing.

Raven shoved in. “We were heading to go catch Wonder Woman and Clarke told me about this festival. I didn’t know. I said we should see Wonder Woman again some other time. This is only once a year. I brought cannoli.” She held up a pastry box.

Clarke smiled. “We brought a blanket, but it’s a lot more crowded than we thought it would be. We’re going to have to go find a spot at the back of the crowd.”

“The hell we will,” Raven said, rolling her eyes. “They’ve got a great spot, and room for two more people. Scoot over Miller. What you got over there?”

“Cheese and salami and crackers. Hand over the cannoli.” Raven and Miller and Jackson shuffled around on their side of the blanket and all of a sudden Clarke, still standing there, had a glass of sangria in her hand. 

“Sit down, Griffin,” Miller grumbled. “Your blocking the view.”

She laughed awkwardly and sat, folding her legs under her, watching Bellamy. Miller returned to the cannolis with Raven and Jackson. Bellamy wanted to say something to Clarke. But he didn’t know what. He wasn’t used to not knowing how to talk to her.

“Hey, sorry we just showed up like this. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

That shocked him. “Why would you think you weren’t welcome.” He’d been avoiding her, he knew, but he never wanted her to feel unwelcome. His gut twisted.

She drank from the solo cup of sangria. “You didn’t seem like you wanted me to come.”

“I thought you didn’t want to.”

She laughed. “I always want to go where you’re going, Bellamy. If you’ll have me.”

He blinked. He always wanted her. He couldn’t admit it. He clenched his teeth. She looked so uncomfortable. “Well then, come on over here. You can’t even see the stage from there. You’ll hurt your neck.” He scooted over and made room for her to recline next to him. She grinned and stretched out next to him. Now she could see the stage. The five of them were close on blanket, Raven elbowing him a couple of times, but when he asked her to stop hogging all the picnic food, she made them a plate and he set it between him and Clarke. She layered a cracker with salami and cheese and handed it to him.

“So did I hear that right? You were almost an Olympic archer?”

He opened his mouth. Tried to will away the blush he felt rising to his face. Twilight was falling. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. “You don’t know everything about me.”

There was a breath. Then another. “You’re right. I don’t.” 

When the main act started up, she settled closer to him. She smelled like peaches and summer. They shared their plate of food, and swiped some cannolis from the other side of the blanket. The music played and Bellamy thought maybe everything wasn’t so bad. Maybe she was still his Clarke. In whatever strange way she was his. That was something and he loved her. And he would learn to make peace with what they were to each other.

By the time the music had ended, she was leaning into him and he was lightheaded with both sangria and her nearness. Miller went home with Jackson, up the block. Raven shared a taxi back to Brooklyn with some other festival goers they’d met. Bellamy and Clarke walked back across town, letting the warm summer night and the silence of the city streets they walked down make him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

He had to blame what he did next on the sangria and his hopeless love for her. Because when she seemed fascinated with archery, with his skill that she said he’d hidden from her, with the romance of it all, he tried to convince her that it wasn’t really all that at all. 

“Then show me,” she said. “Teach me how to shoot. Otherwise I’m just going to continue to believe you’re Robin of Loxley, and I’m going to tell everyone you’re a medieval superhero in disguise.”

He laughed but when they got back to the carriage house, he dug his bow and arrows out of the trunk he’d been using for a coffee table in his room, and set up a quick target area along the path. “Just a quick lesson to demystify it, okay?”

She smiled up at him. “Anything you say.”

He told her how to hold the bow and stand and place her fingers. 

“Like this?” she asked.

She had it wrong. 

“No.” He stepped up behind her to show her. He ran his hand along her arm to show her how to hold the bow higher, then slipped his other palm up her spine to straighten it, sliding across her smooth shoulder, down her tricep to her elbow to raise it. Then he moved to cover her hand with his on the string. “Breathe,” he whispered into her ear. She let out a shuddering breath. 

He helped her pull the string back. “Let go.” His voice was deep and he felt her tremble against him, but she let go and the thwack of the arrow into the target startled him.

She gasped, “I did it!” 

Bellamy dropped his arms from around her and stepped back, shaking his head to clear it. He swallowed and let out a puff of air.

Clarke turned around, the bow dropping to her side, and she looked at him with wide eyes. In the shadows, they were almost purple. And huge, her lips slightly parted. “Bellamy?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It isn’t safe to shoot arrows under the influence of alcohol.” He collected the bow from her and the rest of the gear, pulling the arrow from the target, briskly.

“We walked all the way across town and stopped drinking awhile ago.” She was blinking at him owlishly. 

He shook his head and cleared his throat again, trying to forget the feel of her silky skin, so much skin under his hands. The way she trembled and leaned into him. He gathered everything. “Regardless. It’s late, we’ve been drinking, our decision making is compromised. Clearly. Or I wouldn’t be trying to teach you archery in the middle of the night after drinking sangria all day.” He laughed. At himself. “It’s time to say goodnight and go to bed, Clarke.” He headed down the path, stopping when he realized she wasn’t following. 

“Clarke?” He turned around but she was still standing in the garden, looking at him with a devilish smile. “Aren’t you going to bed?”

Her teeth gleamed out at him as she grinned. “In a bit. I think I’d like to enjoy the garden and think about some stuff.” She sighed, happily, and stretched and Bellamy felt an unacceptable urge to lay her down in the flower garden and fuck her senseless. 

He shook his head. “Did you have a good time, tonight?” His voice was gravelly with lust. He cleared it again.

She cocked her head and lifted her hand to play with the strap of her tank top. He swallowed. “The best. Good night, Bellamy.” 

He wanted this to continue. To continue where? Nowhere that could be good news, never mind how his body tried to convince him otherwise. He was glad for the shadows. He nodded gruffly. “‘Night,” he said, and escaped into the carriage house.


	7. The Plum Wine's Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke reach an equilibrium over the summer. It's driving Bellamy nuts.

Something changed after that night, and Bellamy wasn’t sure what. Something about the carriage house settled then. At first it was a relief, that this tension between them seemed to have ebbed, but then he began to worry. Was this just the way it would always be? Bellamy spending all his time on his own tasks, and Clarke spending her time on hers. Separate but amicable? 

He should be happy. This was what he wanted. A good relationship with Clarke Griffin that wasn’t in danger of imploding because of his unrequited feelings. It helped that he poured all those feelings into the book. Admitting to himself that it was about her made a difference. Whenever he was frustrated or particularly longing for her, he’d just write it into the story. He stuffed in way too many chapters about how they touched each other, instead of focusing on their survival in the apocalypse, but he didn’t really care. He just needed to get it out. It was a coping strategy and he was aware of it. 

He still had half the summer to go before getting back to school and he tried to fill his time up with non Clarke activities, and he had the feeling it would be okay. It was in equilibrium. He got his coffee in the morning and took a deep breath when he saw Clarke getting set for her day, before he headed back to his room to work on the next chapter. He thought he might be able to finish his first draft before he had to go back to school. The carriage house was a blessing. He didn’t need to pick up a summer job bartending or doing curriculum planning or anything, because his rent was so damn reasonable. He could focus and actually write for once. And if he had to tamp down a surge of disappointment that the attraction he felt for Clarke hadn’t been pushed to the surface and addressed and dealt with once and for all, whether it meant he could love her for real or had to accept it never being more than fake, well… he put that frustration into his book, too. 

“Have fun, Clarke,” he told her, when she said she was heading to the museum with her sketchbook for the day. She eyed him as he slipped off up the stairs with his coffee and his hair as mussed as his brain. 

He was just settling down to chapter 15 when there was a scratching at the door.

“Bellamy?”

“What is it Clarke?”

She opened the door and poked just her head in. Her hair was twisted up in a knot on the top of her head and a little bit of the pink she’d dyed the ends with for the summer showed. She was freaking adorable. “Did you want to come with me to the museum?”

He blinked at her. He thought for a minute about wandering through the museum with her, letting her show him her favorite art works, him dragging her down to the roman weapons section. “The Museum” always meant The Metropolitan. He knew her that well. “I love the museum,” he said, afraid suddenly that it sounded too much like ‘I love you,’ so he hurried on, “but I’m really getting into this part in my book and I don’t want to lose my inspiration. I only have until school starts.”

“Why do you only have until school starts? You can keep writing after we go back to school.”

“Clarke.” It felt like a scold. “Teaching is my job. This is a hobby. I’m enjoying it, but I’m under no illusions that it’s anything but a hobby to pass the time. It’s fun, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” she said and pushed in the door to lean up against the doorjamb. She wore a white dress sprigged with summer flowers. It flowed down her body and revealed acres of creamy cleavage. He was speechless. Good thing she didn’t require him to speak. She took a deep breath and he refused to let himself watch her breasts rise. “I’ll bring something back for you.”

He nodded. Still without words. She smiled with a twinkling eye and left, closing the door behind her.

He took a moment to find out how to breathe again, and then shook his head and got back to writing. He’d find a way to work that into this chapter if it killed him. 

***  
He jumped when a knock came at his door some time later. He shook himself out of the daze he’d fallen into writing. “What’s up?”

Clarke opened the door and stuck her head in. “Hey, I picked up some steaks for dinner.”

He blinked at her. “Dinner already? Didn’t you just leave?”

She grinned and stepped in, one hand behind her back, still wearing the pretty dress. “Silly, that was hours ago. I just was in the mood for steak. So I got some. I’m going to put them on, but I wanted to give you a heads up. You think you can take a break in a half hour or so?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I haven’t actually taken a break yet and I probably should.”

She smiled wider. “So it’s been a good day of writing. Perfect. I got this for you. It can be a celebration.” She held out her hand that had been behind her back. “It’s a mug.” She took a few steps across the room towards Bellamy as he just stood and watched. “Look.” She held it up for him. 

Michelangelo’s painting The Creation of Man was stretched around it.

“It’s from the Sistine Chapel.”

“I know where it’s from,” he said and took it from her, looking at it. “Thanks, but why did you get me this.”

She shrugged and looked away almost bashfully. Bellamy stared. She was never bashful. “I don’t know. Because you’re the creator. Creating something. Like a god.”

His mouth dropped open.

She rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be a jerk about it.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and flounced out. “Dinner in thirty minutes. I don’t want to mess up your writing session so plan accordingly.”

Then she was gone and he was rubbing his shoulder where she punched him. Not because it hurt. Just because he still felt her there and he wasn’t sure what had just happened. 

***

They went back to normal. Bellamy used ‘normal’ tentatively, because he didn’t understand what normal was. She wasn’t just his colleague. She wasn’t just his friend. She wasn’t just his roommate. She was something more than that but what she was to him, or more importantly, what he was to her was completely a mystery to him.

They still pretended to be married around Vera. And pretended to be dating around Clarke’s mother or Roan their new assistant principal or Marcus the owner of the house or even Jackson, who now believed that their relationship was of the “complicated” variety. Which he supposed was true. And not an act at all. But the little touches and kisses and how close they sat, whenever one of those people was around WAS an act. And for some reason, one of those people ALWAYS seemed to be around. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened. Bellamy and Clarke’s friends and family kind of just got folded into Vera’s friends and family and soon, they weren’t just hanging out with Miller and Monty and Jasper and Raven, their friends, but also with Jackson and Harper, an intern from Marcus’ business, Maya, a woman from Vera’s church who helped her with gardening, Luna, the psychic from across the street, and Murphy, Vera’s regular pizza delivery guy, who now lived in the tiny basement apartment of her brownstone with his girlfriend Emori, who… to be honest, Bellamy had no clue what Emori did. 

The act became a natural thing. An easy thing. A constant thing. A habit. Something he barely even thought about. And it never went over the bounds again, but it flirted with the boundaries every day and drove him mad. They behaved with a level of intimacy that was always right on the edge of romance. No displays. Just casual affection. Everyone in their new lives just accepted it as who they were to each other. Weird, independent, maybe staring a little bit too long. 

Even their friends who knew the truth stopped acting as if it was the funniest joke ever. It just was. Bellamy and Clarke just were. They were together and it was right and the way it was supposed to be.

And he ached for her, while she was right there.

***  
“Bellamy!” came Clarke’s voice through the door. Sing songy and insistent. “Bellamy you promised…”

He sighed and put his book down. He wasn’t writing. Truth be told, he’d finished the book. No one knew though. He was hiding in his room pretending to write as an excuse to keep hiding, but there was an itch under his skin. It made it impossible to sit still and he wasn’t sure what it was. School planning was starting in just a couple days, and he felt like things had settled, but were unsettled. It was this middle ground. He didn’t know what to make of it.

“What did I promise exactly?” 

Clarke opened the door even though she hadn’t been invited, not really. They had a tendency not to pay attention to polite niceties like knocking. One of those things. She slipped in the door wearing a low cut v-neck t-shirt and a short shorts. Summer really did a number on her wardrobe. It’s like she wasn’t trying to cover any skin at all. “You promised to show me the constellations.”

His sigh was bigger this time.”Clarke. We’re in the middle of New York City. There’s too much light pollution. Some day I’ll take you out to Montauk and we can sit on the beach and I’ll show you out there.”

She smiled so happily he was stunned. “Yes please! I will hold you to that one, too, but you can’t break this promise. You said you would on the next clear night. You said you might be able to see some of them and show me.”

“I don’t remember, I must have been drunk,” he grumbled, although he kind of did. There was definitely some of Monty’s home brewed beer involved. And Raven’s sciencey excitement over some of Hubble’s latest photos that had gotten everyone fired up. Especially after he told them that in his book he was writing, the heroes came from a dying space station, meant to save them after the world was made uninhabitable. He’d had a bit too much to drink and had let out his story without thinking. They jumped on that and pressed him for more details, so he distracted them with stories of constellations. They were drunk enough that it worked.

“Bellamy…” she sang again, with a half smile. She wasn’t letting it go.

“Fine.” He laboriously got up from his desk. Her giant smile making his act of reluctance really hard to maintain, until she grabbed his hand and he just let the grumpy act go entirely. He was a little too happy to follow her out into the garden, his hand in hers. 

“I’ve already had Vera turn off all the lights in the garden so we can see,” Clarke said. He couldn’t really see her, but her voice was like whiskey and shivered down his spine. 

He sat down in an adirondack chair, and she piled herself in his lap. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, stunned.

“I need to be close to you so that I can see the stars you are pointing at. They’re pretty dim. And I can barely see you at all.” She curled her arm around his neck and pressed her face next to his. “What is that one called?” She pointed at the brightest one, he followed her finger. The north star. 

“The north star.” He said, distractedly. She was so soft against him.

“So does that mean you can find your way in the wilderness with that?”

“It’s not a compass, which points to true north. Magnetic north.”

“Ah. Yes. I need true north to find my way.” Her words whispered over his skin. “But if I don’t have one, how do I know which is the north star?”

He sighed. “I told you there was too much light pollution.”

“You promised.”

He sighed and resisted the desire to run his hands up and down her thigh, her arm, her back, all that delicious exposed skin, and instead began pointing out to her the stars he could see. Then the stars that should be visible if their skies had been darker and then he let go of the stars they could see at all and just told her stories about gods and monsters and felt as if he were somehow connected to the divine, just because he was touching her and she was smiling softly at him as she listened. He wanted to kiss her. 

“Hello kids. I didn’t know you’d be out here,” Vera said. “What a coincidence. I was just going to leave this at your door.” She held up a bottle filled with a dark brown liquid.

“What is it?” Clarke said brightly, looping her arm around Bellamy’s neck and reaching out for the bottle.

Vera smiled— Bellamy would have called it a smirk, but Vera wasn’t the type to smirk. She was entirely too sweet. “This is my plum wine. A batch has just matured. Here, drink.” She popped the cork out and handed the bottle to Clarke. 

Clarke gasped with happiness, wiggling just a little in his lap in a way that was hard to deal with, and then put the bottle to her lips and tipped it up. “Oh my god. That is delicious.”

“I know. It’s the secret ingredient of my sangria. Right there. A little bit of bottled magic.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes just a little. Vera didn’t catch him but Clarke did. She gave him a warning look. “Taste Vera’s plum wine, Bellamy. Do you want me to feed it to you?” There was a teasing look in her eyes.

He glared at her and took the bottle. There was a moment when he first tasted it where it was almost like medicine, but when he held it in his mouth, it deepened and richened. It was dark and sweet. Heavy with fruit. The perfume filled his head. Swallowing, the alcohol heat followed down into his stomach. “It’s strong.” He said, his voice deeper. 

“It’s good,” Clarke said, took the bottle and pulled deep on it. She licked her lips and he could almost see the sweetness of the dark purple wine on the tip of her tongue. It was entrancing.

“Your turn,” she said, smiling and holding it out to him.

“I shouldn’t…” the words didn’t hold much strength.

“You should. We’re going back to work in a couple of days. Live a little, Bell.” When she smiled, her tongue poked out from behind her teeth and he couldn’t stop looking. 

He nodded and took another drink, long and hard.

“Well,” Vera said, her voice full of happiness. She was always so pleasant. “I’ve done my duty and delivered my secret weapon to you.”

“Weapon?” Bellamy asked.

“Ingredient. Same thing. Enjoy the last few days of your vacation kids. I’m going to turn in for the night.”

And then she’d gone back into the ivy covered brownstone and Bellamy and Clarke sat there, her warm in his lap, trading sips. He found his breath synchronizing with hers. When she laughed, her forehead tipped forward and pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t help sliding his palm up and down her arm. Her skin was like velvet. 

When his phone rang, he jumped and nearly dumped her on the ground. He shook his head. To clear it. It wasn’t working. He tapped her knee indicating that he was going to get up. She grumbled and climbed off of his lap.

He checked his phone. “Octavia,” he said, puzzled. This was not their regular call. She didn’t usually call him out of the blue. “I need to take this.”

Clarke bit her lip and nodded, Sitting back down in the chair as he walked to the edge of the patio. “Hey O. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to straighten out the holidays and vacation and all. You and Clarke are coming to Ann Arbor for Thanksgiving, right? And we’re coming to you for Christmas?”

“Uh, she usually spends holidays with her mom.”

“So you’re going to DC with her instead?”

“No. I’ll have thanksgiving with you and she’ll have thanksgiving with her mom.”

Octavia snorted. “Really, Bellamy? You’re not spending the family holidays with your wife— I mean girlfriend? It will be your first together right?”

He glanced over at Clarke. She was looking away but he could tell she was listening. He cleared his throat. “We’re not like that, O.”

She looked at him, and he couldn’t tell in the shadows, but for a minute he thought it was naked pain on her face. But then she took a deep pull on the bottle, and it resolved into a happy smile. His heart beat fast. 

“Sure you aren’t.” Octavia said, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes. “You’re in love with her.”

He swallowed. He couldn’t tell her he wasn’t. That would be a lie. He couldn’t tell her he was. That would be admitting too much. He couldn’t give away the ruse, because for all he knew Vera was listening from one of her windows. “It’s just how we are, O. Don’t make it mean more than it means. You know what we are to each other.”

There was a pause on the phone. His eyes found Clarke’s again and she was staring at him. Full of shadows again. He didn’t know what. 

“I’m going in,” Clarke said, without warning. And he wondered if he’d hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt her. 

“Clarke…” he called, but she was down the path already, the wine bottle abandoned on the table. And Octavia was demanding his attention.

“You’re so stupid Bellamy,” O said. He knew already. “She’s in love with you, too. Did you not notice? I can’t believe you’re not together yet.”

“Listen O, I can’t talk now I have to—“

“The hell you can’t. You’re going to stay on the phone until I beat it into you.”

He should have hung up. His sister was relentless when she was on a mission. But instead, he stayed, because it was better than running after Clarke like he really wanted to do and making a mess of everything with his hopeless love for her and his drunken lack of inhibitions. He really shouldn’t have had that much plum wine, but she kept urging him. And he had a hard time not giving her what she wanted.

He finally got Octavia to accept that he knew he was a fool and let him hang up. He grabbed the nearly empty bottle of wine and followed Clarke down the path into their apartment. 

With the lights off, it seemed mysterious. Like a different place. Like the inside of his heart, all the twists and turns, shadows, the sweet smell of how much he loved Clarke. He wanted her back in his arms and he wanted to taste the wine on her lips and drink from the beauty that was her.

He found himself taking the stairs two at a time. He needed to talk to her. He knew something was wrong and Octavia had drilled into him how much he loved her for the last ten minutes. He knew it and he couldn’t bear if he’d said something wrong. The light was still on her room. He opened the door and walked in.

“Clarke, I just—“ he stopped.

She was in her bed, under a thin sheet. Her shoulders were bare and gleamed under the lamp. She was naked under the sheet.

It was soft and draped over her every curve and dip. Her nipples made sharp peaks in the fabric on the soft mounds of her breasts. Her hips were rounded and lush. Her arm led down between her thighs.

Clarke licked her lips and let out a sigh. “Bellamy…” it was barely a word. Her hand began to move.

Bellamy gripped the doorknob to keep from going to her, from pulling the sheet off of her so he could see her, naked and beautiful. From pressing her into the bed with his own body and replacing her hand with his. He wanted to make her come, to feel her moan against his skin. He held on to the door to keep from trailing his tongue over her beaded nipples and sucking. From tasting her. From devouring her mouth with his own.

He wanted to fuck her.

So hard.

He wanted her to be his. 

He wanted to love her.

He was so drunk. So was she. He knew it was the plum wine. She wouldn’t do this— It was always when she was drunk. A lump rose in his throat.

“Sorry,” he said, and ducked his head, trying to ignore the way her hand was speeding up under the sheet. When he closed the door, he heard her come. 

Or cry.

He wasn’t sure which. 

He raked his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t have had so much to drink. God he was so hard. He wanted her so bad. 

But he resisted the urge to turn around and throw that door open again, pulling her into his arms and taking care of her in whatever way she needed. Not like this. 

He went to his room, locked the door, and stripped. He jerked off so violently he wasn’t sure if he was finding release or punishing himself.


	8. Feeling Pressured About Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy can't get his roommate out of his mind. His fake wife. His best friend. His co-teacher. Bellamy is in love with her and is having a hard time not confessing and/or tearing off her clothes.   
> The only solution he can see is to avoid her at all costs. Never be alone with her. Pretend he is not on fire for her.  
> Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.  
> This is not what a fake marriage was supposed to be pretending. Well, he fucked that up.

He woke up when the August sun hit his skylight. Last day of vacation and he felt good. Surprisingly good. He stretched and licked his lips. There was a faint taste of plum wine. Like Vera promised. There was no hangover.

The night came back to him in a rush. He sat up in bed and raked his fingers through his hair. No hangover, just memories that veered into pornographic.

“Fuck.” He was naked under the sheets and that just reminded him of Clarke, of the thoughts that went through is mind when he jerked off. “Fuck.” 

While the coffee was brewing he took a cold shower because he deserved it, then changed into jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t need to be back at school until tomorrow. He printed out his novel. All finished. Because he figured that was the next step after he finished the first draft. Fuck. He poured coffee into his Michelangelo mug. The creation of man. He couldn’t even look at it without thinking of Clarke. Fuck. Fuck. The light poured through the french doors. Clarke would be up soon, and no matter how he tried to hide in his room, he knew it wouldn’t work. Not today. Fucking fuck what the fuck was he going to do.

He couldn’t. 

He packed his bag and decided to head to school to “organize his room.” Just as he was leaving the carriage house, he heard Clarke stirring in her room. Fuck. His heart wanted to beat right out of his chest. Bellamy up and fled, closing the door silently behind him. No shame at all. He was running from her. 

***

He didn’t answer her texts. He stayed in school until dark, setting up his classroom and working on his plans. He knew it would be a long day tomorrow of meetings and then curriculum plans with Clarke and Raven… but they wouldn’t be alone. She wouldn’t push it at school, with other teachers around. He could stay professional. She would too. That’s how they were. And once they regained their equilibrium, then he could, maybe, be alone with her. He would never drink around her again. 

When he stopped at Miller’s bar that night, ordering greasy bar food instead of eating Clarke’s traditional back to school dinner at home, he drank coke instead of whiskey or beer. When his phone dinged with a message for the fifth time, Miller spoke up.

“So you’re going to ignore that?”

He nodded. 

“She wants to talk to you.”

He nodded.

“She asked me if you were here. I told her you were. Should I not have?”

He swallowed the bite of hamburger. “No. It’s fine.”

Miller waited. 

“I regret everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

***  
School started.

He’d kept them caught up in work and surrounded by other people and in public places and for all that Clarke looked at him with those big blue eyes and her blonde hair with the fading pink ends, looking soft and vulnerable, Bellamy just smiled at her emptily, keeping it all bottled up inside of him. Refusing to come home until he knew she was already in bed, and he stopped keeping his clothes in her room so he had no reason to go in there anymore. He kept it safe. Safe territory. He put the boundaries back up. And he avoided Vera, too, and the need to pretend that they were together. 

He wasn’t going to. He wasn’t going to let it out. Not the way he felt about her. Not his anguish about her pushing it into meaningless sex. Not the flashes of memory every time she walked in the room, of the way she touched herself and the heat that raced through him because he wanted to push her up against every surface he saw and fuck her. 

Maybe if he could just leave it at that it would have been okay. But he couldn’t. He wanted to take her home and hold her. He wanted to tell her that he was crazy about her, not like a roommate, not like a friend, like someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and fucking while drunk and horny wasn’t enough for him. He wished it was. He wished he could. 

Truth was, she’d always been more sexual than him, flirting with pretty much anyone whenever they hung out in bars or clubs, sometimes going home with them. And she used to report back to him about her various dates and boyfriends and girlfriends. He remembered. It was how their friendship had begun. He’d forgotten, because he didn’t think of her that way back then, they were colleagues, and because it seemed to die down as they hung out more. She’d seemed more focused on talking and hanging out just with their friends. With him. And he started to get to know her better. And like her more.

It made sense that when he was the only one around all the time that she’d let that side of herself out again in a convenient way. And they were pretending to be married. Who else was she going to turn to? It just made sense. He’d been a fool to forget how sexy she was, how sensual. It really was something he admired about her. Back before he loved her, before he wanted her. But he just wasn’t that way and he couldn’t make it meaningless. 

It made sense. And he wanted her. But not like that. He couldn’t be a part of it.

He’d made it through the first week of students and was sitting at his desk, checking his paperwork when his door slammed open. 

He closed his eyes and sighed. He was surprised it had taken Clarke so long to confront him. He gathered his courage and opened his eyes.

“Raven!” he said surprised.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Shut the door.”

She shut the door. “Oh don’t worry asshole, she left already trying to hold back her fucking tears. And there’s no kids around either. I waited so I could give you a piece of my mind. You fucking asshole.”

Bellamy stared at her. “She’s crying?”

“Of course she’s crying. You won’t talk to her. She thinks you hate her.”

“I don’t hate her.” 

She snorted. “I’ve seen how you’ve been talking to her this past week.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been nothing but polite and respectful and professional.”

She gaped at him. “Exactly. What the fuck Bellamy.”

“Watch your language. We’re in school. We’re supposed to be professionals.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “She won’t tell me what you did. She’s protecting you.”

What had he done? Avoided her. Because he couldn’t. Any of it. She thought fucking would be a nothing thing. And everything should go back to normal. He should just be normal. “I need time,” he said. “I’ll figure it out.”

She shook her head in disgust. He deserved it. “You’d better.” The she stormed out the door as loudly as she’d come in.

Coward he was, Bellamy didn’t go home to Clarke to figure it out. What was there to figure out? He was still fighting to restrain himself around her, even at work, to keep from kissing her or confessing his undying love of her in the middle of a staff meeting. He wasn’t ready to face her alone.

He walked into Miller’s place and tossed his manuscript onto the bar. “As promised.”

Miller turned around slowly and gave him a slow up and down. “Promised? Nah, man. You lost a bet.” He picked up the book and flipped through it. 

“Sure. You win. I’m in love with Clarke. Ha ha. Funny joke. Great.”

He picked up a bottle of whiskey.

“No. Coke, please. And a cheeseburger. I’m not drinking anymore. Taking a break for the school year.”

Miller put down the bottle of whiskey and pierced Bellamy with a glare. “You were already in love with Clarke, Blake. I bet you that you were going to fuck everything up. And as Raven has informed me, you’ve fucked everything up. So I’m glad to see you’ve recognized it without me calling in the bet.” He picked up the soda gun and poured a glass of coke, punching in his dinner order and starting a tab. “And if you didn’t mess it up, I’d be paying for your bill for a year.” He grinned and patted the manuscript. “So this is the whole thing, huh? Finished? The book you refused to let anyone read because it was some giant secret? And now that I won the bet I get full access to it, this book?”

“Fuck off, Miller. You won. I fucked everything up. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Just shut up and get me burger. Read the damn book and let me be miserable.”

He nodded. “Good plan.” He retreated to the corner of the bar and sat on the beer fridge, flipping to the first page.

“Prick,” Bellamy grumbled and drank his coke while watching a game on tv. 

***

As the school year developed, Bellamy gained control of his emotions. He got used to them anyway. They were still there, but the ache in his heart was normalized. It became his base state. And the urge to kiss her was a lot like the urge to curse at the particularly trying students. He let the urge wash over him, and then let it go, and responded to the temptation with restraint and maturity. We was so fucking mature it was a fucking miracle. 

Honestly Raven was the worst part, because she glared at him and snapped at him in public and cursed at him whenever no one else was around. She was on his shitlist. But whatever, he kind of deserved it. Because he never did fix things with Clarke, he just let them fester, grow silent. Raven called him an asshole and periodically cornered him to tell him he’d better fix things or she would. 

He and Clarke? They were professional. And polite. 

He was really proud of them. They worked well together as co-teachers and always supported each other in meetings and with backed each other up with students, but outside of school, it was like…

Nothing.

They were barely even roommates. They spent no time together and when Bellamy came into the carriage house, Clarke found somewhere else to be. Usually her room. He smelled the oil paint, so he guessed she was painting, but she didn’t show him any paintings and she surely stopped telling him about what she did outside of school. 

Even Vera watched him with worried eyes when she saw him passing. Never them. They were never together anymore. And he could tell Vera wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just left bottles of plum wine on their door step and hung new crystals and ceramic charms off of her tree. 

And Bellamy and Clarke went on the way they were. Bellamy. Full stop. And Clarke. Not a pair. Two separate people who worked together and lived together and that was it. 

It hurt, but did it hurt anymore than being in love with Clarke, who wanted nothing to do with him? It became his new normal. They were handling it. His unrequited love for Clarke. It was awesome. 

He walked into the bar to order his standard dinner. To be honest, he kind of wished he’d won the bet, just to get that bill taken care of everyday, but if he hadn’t wrecked things with Clarke, would he need to eat crappy bar food every night? No, he’d be eating with Clarke. He pushed the pain down, as usual as he sat down at the bar.

“Burger and coke,” he said. 

“Nope.” Miller turned around. 

“What do you mean, nope. You monitoring my diet now? Fine. Give me a salad with it.”

“Nope. Time’s up, motherfucker.” He gave him his unimpressed look and pointed to the sign above the bar. “We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service.”

Bellamy gaped at him. “For what reason?”

“For the reason that I’m sick of your whiny ass and Raven blowing up my phone about how Clarke is crying every night.”

Bellamy clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes. She was crying. Because of him. He knew it. Because he was avoiding her. Because he didn’t fix it. Because he was her best friend and now they were nothing. Because of that night. Because he couldn’t tell her how much he loved her. Because he couldn’t tell her how much it meant. 

“Go home to your wife.”

“She’s not my wife.”

“Go home to your Clarke.”

Bellamy stood up from his stool. “I’m going to report you to the manager.”

“I am the manager.”

Bellamy raked his hand through his hair. 

“Talk to her. Just talk to her. It will get better, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. “

“Just go.”

***

He didn’t want to face Clarke, but he did. 

When he got home, Murphy, the pizza delivery guy and basement neighbor was sitting in the garden. 

He nodded to him, but wasn’t really expecting a response.

“I hear you’re in the dog house.”

He stopped. Anything to delay. “What’s that you hear? From who?”

He took a drag on a joint. “From Vera. She’s a smart lady. I’ve known her since I was a kid and got into some trouble. She’s always been on my side.”

“Yeah she’s awesome.”

“Vera always knows. She said love is not always smooth. Sometimes there are obstacles.”

Bellamy made a sour face at Murphy. “What are you, a fortune cookie?”

Murphy smirked and nodded, holding the joint out to Bellamy. Who refrained. He needed to be clear headed around Clarke. Needed to. 

“Vera knows, man. I’m telling you. She always knows. She’s like a genius about this love stuff. I totally thought it would be me she was schooling, the fuck-up, but nope. Me and Emori, we’re good. It’s you. Mr Perfect Abs and Responsible Job.” He chuckled to himself. “It’s awesome.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Murphy nodded and chuckled. “You wanna hear her advice?” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but he wanted to know. He needed advice. He didn’t know what to do. “Fine, tell me.”

Murphy took another drag and before he breathed out, he said, “Tell her you love her, man.”

“What?” His heart leapt. Did Vera know? “Why would you say that? We’re married.”

Murphy shrugged. “I’m just saying what Vera said. She always knows. I’m telling you. I’d listen to her advice.” He laughed, his eyes almost closed. “Chicks love it when you tell them you love them. “ He stopped and cocked his head and then peered at Bellamy. “Actually, dudes love it when you tell them you love them, too.” He made a face. “I think it’s just really good advice. Tell them you love them. Yeah. I gotta go.” And with that, Murphy jumped up and went back to his basement bunker love nest with his strange girlfriend and Bellamy was left wondering. 

Was it good advice? He combed his fingers through his hair and shook his head, before heading to the carriage house.

The lights were down low. Candles were lit. Clarke was sitting on the couch staring out the window, a glass of wine in her hand. 

His heart leapt right out of his chest and tried to get away. “Clarke?”

She looked up at him and took a deep breath that filled her lungs. “Bellamy,” she said softly, and he couldn’t, any longer. 

“I can’t do this, anymore, Clarke.” The words tumbled out of his mouth because he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I can’t. I can’t be alone with you.”

“What?” She said, staring up at him, her face stricken.

“It’s too much.”

“Bellamy… I… I’m sorry. Don’t leave. I’ll do better. I know I can be better I won’t put pressure on you. Raven was wrong. I know it was too much. I know I kept pushing the boundaries, but I couldn’t help it.”

Bellamy sighed out. He knew it. She was horny. That was all he was to her. His heart was breaking. “You can’t be like that with me anymore, okay?”

“Okay, Bellamy. I know. We’ll go back to the way we used to be, okay? I swear. Please. Don’t leave me.”

“Don’t beg me, okay. I don’t want that. That’s not what this is. I won’t leave.” He felt like he was breaking apart. The very idea. “But you’ve got to stop. Okay? I can’t be around you if every time you get drunk you want to screw around. I can’t be just a drunk lay of convenience to you. I can’t be just sex. I mean, you’re sitting here slowly getting drunk by yourself on a school night. How am I supposed to deal with coming home to you all open and sexy. Like you want me? I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t drink around you at all, not if you’re gonna be like that and I have to be the one with all the restraint. ”

“Oh,” she breathed, and put the wine glass down.

“You can’t kiss me like that. You can’t pretend you’re in love with me and then use me for sex, because I’m in love with you. And it’s not pretend.”

“Oh.” This time she smiled. She stood up and walked towards him.

She stepped in close. Her hair was soft and she was in pajama pants and a t-shirt. He took a step back. “I said no, Clarke.”

She bit her lip. “Bellamy, I’m not drunk. And I’m not just looking to screw. I’m in love with you, too. I’ve been trying to find away to move us into the next step forever.”

He swallowed and shook his head. “But you keep saying we’re just friends.”

She shook her head. “That was you. I thought it was what you wanted. I’ve been trying to give that to you. I asked you to move in with me.”

“As friends.” His mouth was dry.

Slow shake. “No. That’s not how I wanted to be.”

“You didn’t make that clear.” 

“I guess I didn’t.” When she stepped up again, he didn’t move away. She put a hand to his face and caressed it, cupping his jaw, before she leaned up on her tip toes and brushed her lips against his, softly, tentatively. “I love you. Is it clear now?”

His breath left him, and he wasted no time pulling her to him, tangling his fingers in her hair and kissing her the way he’d been dying to. She sobbed and pressed her body against the full length of him, making him stumble back until they hit the wall. And they kept kissing.

He was delirious with it. Then he felt the tears on her cheek. “What is this? Why are you crying.”

“Bellamy, I’ve been so in love with you and I thought you didn’t want anything other than friendship.”

“That’s not true, Clarke. I was more in love with you every day.”

“But you kept rejecting me!”

He shook his head in awe. “You were drunk. I thought you just wanted sex and I was available. The stupid fake marriage act! Why didn’t you TELL me Clarke?”

“I thought I WAS telling you, Bellamy. I told you I loved you and you acted like it was the fake. How could I keep going with it? I was so scared I could only try when I was drunk. And then you turned me down, so many times, and that just made it worse. Sometimes I thought, maybe, but you kept pushing me away. I thought you just weren’t interested. I tried not to pressure you.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “…You tried not to pressure me…” He was so stupid. “You kept giving me space.”

“You kept hiding away.” 

“Dammit Clarke. I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid. Will you go out…we go out all the time… date? I don’t want to just date you, Clarke, fuck. Clarke. Will you be with me. Be mine? I don’t want it to be pretend anymore.”

She let out a long breath and the tension slipped from her body. She nodded without words. She took his hand in hers. “Yes, Bellamy. Yes.”

“Thank god.” He kissed her again, but she broke it. “What is it, Clarke?”

She held onto both his hands now. Took a step towards the stairs, pulling him forward. “Will you…” she took a breath like half a sob. “Will you make love to me?”

And the question sounded so doubtful, so scared. She had no idea. He didn’t want her to be his girlfriend, that wasn’t enough. When he said he wanted it to be real, he realized, he meant he wanted her to be his wife. He wanted to marry her for real. He didn’t want to be separated, ever. But he couldn’t say that. It was too soon. He knew it was too soon. He wasn’t going to put that pressure on her when they were just figuring this out. He could wait.

He grasped her hands back in his, they were so small and soft, and brought them up to his lips. He kissed her hands. First one, then the other. “This is just the beginning of us. We can take it slow, okay?”

Her soft smile pursed and wrinkled into a frown. “You want to take it slow?”

He laughed. “Uh, no. No I don’t. But I want it to be just the start. We don’t have to push for everything right now.”

She still looked doubtful. “But you want to fuck me, right?”

“Oh my god,” he pulled her into him and kissed her until they were breathless and panting. “I basically want to fuck you all the time. It’s been a real problem. Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you.” 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and threw her head back. “I was so worried. That is the best reason ever. Thank god.” Then she was laughing and pulling his shirt off. “Lets go fuck.” Then they were stumbling up the stairs, stripping clothes off and falling into her bed. She pushed him down and climbed on top of him and it would have been the best thing ever.

“What the?” He reached behind him to get rid of whatever was on her bed, pinching his hip and pulled out his manuscript. “My book.”

She sat back on top of his lap. Naked. He was naked too. He liked it. 

“Oh yeah. Raven gave it to me.”

“How did Raven get it?”

“Miller gave it to her.”

“That asshole.”

“She said I had to read it because it proved you loved me.”

He leaned up on his elbows. “You read my book?”

She shook her head slowly and her blonde hair flowed around her bare shoulders. “No. You didn’t want me to read it. I wouldn’t read it unless you asked me to.”

He tossed the book to the floor and sat up, wrapping his arms around her. “Raven was right. It proves I love you. It’s all about you. And how in love with you I am. That’s why I didn’t want you to read it. Because then you’d know. And I was afraid.” 

She pressed her forehead up against his. “We’ve been so stupid, Bellamy.” Her voice was soft. He ran his hands up and down her back, over her narrow waist to her flaring hips, her full ass, back up her spine to her shoulders. He kissed her neck below her ear.

“We’ll make up for it okay?”

She nodded. “I won’t let you run away from me anymore. I’m telling you now. I’ll hunt you down if you try.”

He chuckled. “Now I know why they call you Commander of Death.”

“Be afraid.” She began kissing his pulse, nibbling just a little and he shivered. 

“I was afraid. It was too much too soon. I should have asked you out when school was over. Just gone out on some dates. Discovered that what we were to each other was more than just friends and colleagues.”

“Because it was, Bellamy. I was already in love with you. I was such a fool over you and you didn’t even notice.”

He rolled his eyes. “A crush.”

“No. Love. But you’re right, maybe I didn’t let you get there yourself. I pushed. I wanted you always around. I wanted you. Maybe if we’d just been regular room mates?”

“But no, we had to pretend to be married. Zero to Sixty.”

“It wasn’t zero, Bellamy. But it was too soon. Do you wish we hadn’t moved in together? Do you wish we didn’t have the carriage house at all?”

He shook his head. “No. I love you. I love our life, but we got the order mixed up. I want this. I want it. You. Everything.” He closed his eyes. It was too close to what he really wanted, and instead of speaking any more, he rolled her over onto the bed and kissed her, touching her everywhere. 

She laughed when she came under his fingers, a joyous sound full of light, and she grabbed his face in her hands. “No more hiding, okay, Bellamy? No more pretending for us.” And then she kissed him so her light entered him.

When he slid into her for the first time, he held her as close as he could, and he whispered into her ear. “Someday I’ll make you my wife for real.” She let out a shuddering breath and clutched at him, and they spoke not much more that night. Not in words.

Later, when she was boneless and sated and he was so full of joy he could barely believe it, he said it again. “Someday soon,” he murmured.

She smiled without even opening her eyes and curled into his side. “Someday soon.”

He laughed silently at her, at them. At everything and pulled the comforter up around them. They went to sleep together and woke up in the morning together and life began again, all changed.


End file.
